


Lovesong

by andiheardeverything



Series: Lovesong [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 143,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiheardeverything/pseuds/andiheardeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hate crime leaves Blaine damaged and Kurt refuses to let it bring them down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Together

**Author's Note:**

> People always say write what you know, and I know brain inuries. I work with people who have brain injuries and I am constantly impressed and surprised at their strength, at what they overcome and accomplish everyday, and I wanted to document that.
> 
> This was originally posted on my livejournal and has recently been transferred over here

_September 15_ _th_ _, 2018_

Kurt closes his eyes and lets the golden blanket of the rising sun wash over him. It warms his skin, despite the chill in the early autumn air. For a moment he just stands, only seeing the red of his closed eyelids and it’s easy to pretend everything is alright. Everything is perfect.

And then that stuttering cough bring him back and he opens his eyes. He smiles, feeling content, even as he grips the cold handles of the wheelchair and pushes. Blaine coughs again and Kurt reaches to massage his shoulder soothingly. At first it had been scary, the cough. The way Blaine’s breathing stops and stutters, and he can’t seem to get a good breath in. He coughs, ragged and desperate, until he finds his rhythm and his breathing evens out. The doctors said it isn’t anything to worry about. The damage to Blaine’s brain means sometimes his throat relaxes too much, like sleep apnea but while awake, his breaths getting too slow and his brain struggles to catch up. But it always does. 

It’s calm out at six in the morning. Only a few cars rush past, business men and nurses and others starting their workday early. Kurt doesn’t mind the mornings. Blaine rarely sleeps longer than a few hours and Kurt has become so in-tune to his breathing changes that he always wakes when Blaine does. 

They do this every morning. Kurt pushing Blaine down the nearly deserted road, their pace slow and leisurely. Kurt sees the way Blaine relaxes, his stiff joints becoming loose, his breathing calmer, his face peaceful. There’s something about the morning, the way the sun slowly creeps over the horizon, the trees glowing in the golden light, the dew glistening on the grass, dampening Kurt’s ankles, that makes it impossible to dwell upon the bad. The memories. The shouts, the pain, the hurt of _that_ night. The night that changed their lives forever. 

They walk for about an hour until Blaine’s shivering forces them back inside. The mornings are getting colder and Kurt fears the day they won’t be able to continue their morning ritual. The day it snows and Blaine is stuck inside all day. 

Their house is small but nice. The apartment in New York couldn’t accommodate Blaine’s needs and the Anderson’s had graciously gotten them a new place, single level with a ramp entrance and open rooms, an hour drive from the big city. The least they could do, they said. It is cozy and, with the help of Kurt’s superior interior decorating, is beginning to feel a bit like home. 

Inside Kurt helps Blaine out of his jacket, unwinds his scarf from his neck. Blaine looks at him, as he always does, with that ever-present mix of love and hopelessness shining in his eyes. Kurt smiles encouragingly as he leads Blaine’s fingers to his buttons, offering support as Blaine fumbles to undo them. The doctor said his motor skills were improving, and he should be doing as many small movement tasks as he could. Rebuild and strengthen connections that have been broken and damaged in his brain. Blaine groans softly in frustration as his fingers refuse to cooperate, the button slipping from his grasp. He tries to pull his hands away but Kurt grips him tighter, returning the button to his fingers, refusing to give up. 

“You’ve got it,” Kurt offers, smiling as Blaine pushes the button free of the fabric. He helps with the rest, focusing on small victories. Right now they conquered the button. Later perhaps a puzzle, or mixing cookie dough. Kurt would get flour on his cheek and Blaine would laugh his broken, choppy laugh. Kurt would teasingly pat flour on Blaine’s hand and Blaine would focus on wiping it off, until Kurt’s soft fingers would help him, pressing a kiss to the spot, the shape of his lips damp in the flour. That would be later. For now, they are happy with the button.

Today is Janessa’s day. Kurt loves his job and they have been accommodating, letting him work from home when he can and giving him Fridays off, which he could never be more grateful for. But Blaine can’t be alone. The doctors had suggested some group homes, places he could live and have constant care. His parents had agreed that it would be easiest, and maybe they were right, but Kurt couldn’t do it. It may not have seemed like it at the time, but Blaine was still in there, somewhere, and he couldn’t send him away to live with complete strangers, no matter how caring they were. Which is how he found Janessa and Olivia. Two nursing students, trained through an agency that provides in-home care to individuals with brain damage. To people like Blaine.

Janessa comes Monday and Tuesday, arriving around eight and leaving when Kurt gets back from work at six. She’s bubbly and happy and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever seen her without a smile. Olivia is a little more reserved, speaking softly and shyly, but the care still evident in her eyes. What Kurt loves about both of them is how they talk to Blaine like he is a person, just like them, not changing their speech patterns and words like he’s a child, as so many do. 

As expected, Janessa springs through the door at eight o’clock sharp, announcing good morning with more energy than anyone should have in the morning. She’s carrying her usual venti coffee, which Kurt supposes has a lot to do with her never ending energy. She reminds him of Blaine, in a way. Blaine before. 

“Waddup Blaine!” she sings, reaching out her hand. Blaine lifts an unsteady arm, curling his fingers in as much as he can and they pound it, Janessa making an exploding noise as they pull away. Kurt shakes his head with a smile, sure that they had been practicing the day before with the sole intent of showing off to him.

“You’ll be teaching him gang signs before you know it,” Kurt says and Janessa smiles. 

“Blaine’s gangsta,” she says and Blaine lets out a laugh. Kurt feels warm affection growing in him, and he wonders  how he was lucky enough to find someone who could make Blaine smile like that. 

Janessa kneels, putting her lips close to Blaine’s ear and whispering loud enough for Kurt to clearly hear. “He’s just jealous he’s not as fly as we are.” 

Kurt rolls his eyes and squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Don’t let her corrupt you while I’m gone, honey.” Blaine squeezes back as well as he can and with a kiss to the forehead Kurt is gone. 

The day is long; the fall spread is coming fast and Kurt gives up his lunch break in order to meet deadlines. He’s exhausted by the time he gets home, the warm smell of baking rolls and chicken casserole greeting him as soon as he opens the door and his stomach grumbles its appreciation. Blaine is sitting on the couch and is that…glitter on his nose? Kurt hangs up his jacket and lowers beside him. Blaine’s head rolls towards him, lips tugging into a smile. His fingers twitch and Kurt knows he wants to tell him something. 

“What of Janessa’s poorly planned activities were you forced to endure today?” Kurt asks lightly, reaching his thumb to wipe the glitter from Blaine’s nose. Blaine’s eyes flicker towards the coffee table and Kurt raises an eyebrow as he shuffles over. A single sheet of paper sits, framed by assortments of glue and glitter and markers. Written on that paper, in shaky writing that could belong to a preschooler, is Kurt’s name, embellished with glitter and jewels and artistic hearts. Kurt picks up the paper, heart leaping to his throat.

“Did you write this?”

Blaine smiles and lifts a finger. Yes. Kurt clasps a hand over his mouth, tears springing to his eyes as he looks back at the paper. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful. 

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were home,” Janessa’s voice drifts through the room as she moves to stand beside Kurt. 

“He did that himself,” she says. “I helped him a little, held his hand to keep it steady, you know? But the letters were all him.” 

“That’s…” Kurt starts and trails off. He looks over at Janessa, hoping his expression properly portrays how much this means to him. “Thank you.” 

Janessa smiles warmly. “Thank him,” she motions to Blaine. “He’s the one who insisted we fabulous it up with glitter.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Kurt says to Blaine and he means it. Barely five months ago they hadn’t been sure if Blaine could understand _anything_ , if he’d ever be able to interact with anyone ever again. And now here he is, exceeding so many expectations with glitter and hearts. This morning Blaine conquered a button, and this afternoon he wrote Kurt’s name. Kurt tries desperately to swallow the wave of emotions that threatens to overcome him. Instead he sits next to Blaine, pulling him into a hug, never wanting to let go. 

Janessa finishes cooking and leaves with a pound it and instructions that dinner will be done in twenty minutes and Kurt better not burn it or Blaine will tell her next week and there will be consequences. Kurt tapes Blaine’s success beside their bed, vowing to shove it in the face of all the doctors who said Blaine would be a vegetable the rest of his life. 

Janessa is a good cook and dinner is delicious. It’s only been the past month that Blaine’s slowly worked his way from the feeding tube to eating by mouth, and even then only if its puréed.  He still lacks the motor skills for chewing and swallowing correctly, the doctors said, which puts him at a higher risk of choking and pneumonia. Kurt spoons mushed up casserole into Blaine’s mouth before allowing himself to take a bite, watching carefully as Blaine works the food clumsily with his tongue, wiping away any that escapes without a word. 

They get through dinner without any outbursts, which is an accomplishment. It’s understandable that Blaine gets frustrated when he can’t close his mouth enough to prevent food from falling back out, or manage to grip a spoon without Kurt’s fingers closing over his, but it still breaks Kurt’s heart when Blaine gets angry and lashes out, plate tumbling off the table and crashing to the floor.

“It’s okay,” Kurt will say with forced calm, gathering the broken dishes. “We can be done.” 

Later, Blaine will always grab Kurt’s hand in his half grip, guiding it to his heart in the way that Kurt knows means both _I’m sorry_ and _I love you_ because, really, they seem to mean the same thing, lately. 

“I know, baby,” Kurt will always say, closing his eyes as he feels Blaine’s strong heartbeat, something he had been so close to never feeling again. 

None of this happens today and after dinner Kurt tells Blaine about his day, sparing no details as he rants and raves about the designers and the layouts and Mikaela should have had those prints in three days ago. Blaine smiles and listens quietly and Kurt drums his fingers. 

“I’m still going to marry you, you know that, right?” Kurt says when his one-sided conversation dies down and Blaine smiles his goofy grin. Despite everything, everything they’ve gone through in the past five months, nothing’s changed. Kurt and Blaine are still _KurtandBlaine_ and they always will be. No matter how many rusted pipes they have to take to the head, nothing can break what they have. Ever. Kurt’s feeling better than he has in a long while and Blaine ate his dinner well so Kurt presses a hand to his fiancé’s knees, skinny with atrophy, and leans forward. 

“Ice cream?” 

Blaine nods and Kurt smiles triumphantly, like this was the best idea in the world. He digs through the freezer until he finds some Ben & Jerry’s. Strawberry. Blaine’s favorite. He helps Blaine with the spoon and when some slips from Blaine’s mouth and down his chin Kurt gathers it with his fingers and sucks them clean. But ice cream is messy and Kurt can tell when Blaine starts to get frustrated so he quickly closes the tub, claiming he needs to watch his figure and they’re done. 

The days seem to end as soon as they start and Kurt is getting Blaine ready for bed, brushing his teeth and applying moisturizers that Blaine doesn’t bother saying no to (because you’re twenty-five Blaine, and it’s never too early for wrinkle prevention). Kurt dresses the stomach tube like the nurses taught him and checks for pressure sores and skin breakdown as he does every night while putting him in the silk pajamas Kurt had bought him for Christmas last year, and finally deposits him in bed. Kurt shifts him around until he’s tucked under the blankets, all awkward angles and stiff limbs.

Only then does Kurt set about getting himself ready for bed. He’s halfway through his moisturizing when he hears Blaine grunt. A grunt that Kurt recognizes instantly. His bottles are abandoned, still shaking with the force that Kurt pushed away from his vanity and he’s immediately by Blaine’s side. 

“Deep breaths, honey, remember,” he forces his voice to be calming. “I’ll be here with you.” 

Blaine groans again and Kurt notes the time as he suddenly goes rigid, limbs vibrating with strain and breathes coming in ragged grunts. His eyes flutter back and forth impossibly fast and his lips turn an unhealthy shade of blue as he seizes. 

The first time Blaine had a seizure, Kurt cried. It had been in the hospital, before Blaine was responding to anything. Kurt had been sure that was the end. That Blaine was dying. But five minutes after it started it stopped, and Blaine had kept on breathing. Kurt had always thought that seizures were all the same; falling dramatically to the floor and shaking but the doctor had informed him that there were many different types of seizures, and many people with brain injuries, especially those of Blaine’s nature, developed them. It had been scary, it still _is_ scary. They never know when a seizure could occur, sometimes he’ll have three in a day, sometimes there will be weeks between them, and every time Kurt can’t help but think _what if._ What if this is it. What if this is the tipping point, this seizure the one to put the pressure on Blaine’s brain that stops it from working altogether. What if this ends everything. 

Kurt pushes the thoughts from his mind, trying to stay in the here and now. Blaine needs him. Strong, wonderful, beautiful Blaine, who had something really terrible happen to him but is defying every timeline, every expectation set for him. Blaine who never stops trying, who works hard at everything and won’t let something like a stupid seizure bring him back down. Blaine who never gave up on Kurt, and Kurt isn’t about to give up on him. No matter that Blaine had taken the worst of the injuries, they are in this _together_ , and Kurt will fight as hard as Blaine is. 

After two minutes, Blaine’s breathing slows from frantic grunts to even breaths, his body relaxing, and eyes blinking tiredly. He shifts slightly and Kurt reaches to grab his hand.

“Blaine?” Kurt says and Blaine responds, eyes roaming up to find Kurt’s. Kurt offers a reassuring smile. Blaine’s eyes start to sag close, and Kurt knows he must be exhausted. 

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt feels slightly guilty as he forces Blaine to look back up him. “You can sleep soon, I promise. Just tell me how you’re feeling, and I’ll stop bothering you. Do you feel okay?” 

Blaine blinks, arm tangling in blankets and Kurt pulls back his covers, Blaine’s free hand lifting one finger in a yes. 

“Does your head hurt?” Yes. 

“A lot?” Two fingers. No.

“Do you want your pill?” No. 

“Do you need me to get you anything?” This time Blaine just looks at Kurt, eyebrows raising, the word _seriously?_ obvious without being said. Kurt just nods, leans to kiss Blaine on the cheek and pulls his covers back up. 

“Go to sleep,” he says and runs his fingers through Blaine’s short hair, mindful of the jagged scars that cut across his scalp, an open map of the night Kurt would give anything to change. 

Kurt finishes his moisturizing and curls in behind Blaine, drawing him close into his chest. He feels the slow rhythm of Blaine’s breathing; when he’s sleeping it’s easy to pretend that it’s just them. No brain damage or seizures or doctors orders between them. But no matter what, no matter how much Blaine recovers, or declines, Kurt will always love him, nothing can change that. The perfect, beautiful boy he met on the staircase, that doesn’t let anything get him down. Not homophobes, not rusted pipes, not doctors with their stupid charts and diagnoses. Because Blaine is stronger than all that, and Kurt is stronger and together they will get through. No matter what. 

 _Together_. 


	2. Of Hurt and Hope

_June 20_ _th_ _, 2018_  

The air is thick and Kurt can’t breathe. His heart flutters nervously as he rearranges the throw pillows for the twelfth time, picks lint from his jacket, remakes the bed. Jennifer Anderson puts a calming hand on his shoulder and Kurt feels like bursting into tears. Like he’s cracking and any added pressure could be the breaking point and he would shatter all over his nicely mopped floor. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jen says even though Kurt knows she’s lying. Everything isn’t fine. Today Blaine comes home. Today is the day Kurt has been simultaneously anticipating and dreading. The day when Blaine becomes _his_. His responsibility, no nurses a flashing red button away, or doctors with their clipboards and reflex hammers to show him what to do. All the information is stored in his head, filed away in volumes, and now it’s up to him to care for Blaine. 

“I’m scared,” Kurt whispers after a moment and Jen squeezes his shoulder. 

“I know,” she says back and Kurt looks up at her through the tears in his eyes. “If it’s too much, we can call one of the homes that the doctor suggested.” 

Kurt quickly shakes his head. “No.” It’s not an option. 

Jen ruffles a hand through his hair even though he’s far too old for that and he actually put a little effort into his appearance for the first time in two months, but he doesn’t stop her. He knows she’s just as scared as he is. 

“You’re really brave, you know that?” Jen is saying, eyes gazing to the front door where Blaine will be coming any moment. Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent. “Not many would have the courage to do this.”

Her words resonate in Kurt. Courage. So incredibly cheesy but so perfectly _Blaine_. It was the word that set the events in motion that brought them together, that Blaine would text Kurt whenever he was feeling down, or write on little notes and slip them in Kurt’s lunch during finals, or scribble in makeup on the bathroom mirror and Kurt would grumble as he washed it off, but secretly he loved it. And now, perhaps the most appropriate time for the word since they met and Blaine couldn’t even say it. So Kurt will have to say it for Blaine. He’ll have to act it. To live it. 

Standing taller, Kurt tries to smile at Blaine’s mother, but it falls short as the door swings open. They immediately stand, waiting as Robert Anderson enters, followed by two hospital staff, and Blaine. Kurt’s heart pounds and his mouth suddenly feels dry as Blaine is pushed into the room. They stop in the living room, the staff double checking that everything is in order before handing off paperwork, wishing them luck, and leaving. 

And just like that, it’s only them. Blaine’s eyes are wide as they drift across the room, taking everything in. Robert is looking over the place critically, like he hasn’t already seen it a thousand times, like he wasn’t the one who bought it, but Kurt figures it’s mostly nerves. He doesn’t really know what to do either. 

“I hope you like it,” Kurt says to Blaine, voice sounding thin and he tries to push it down. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He’s been with Blaine almost every day for the past two months, there’s no reason to be nervous now. 

“I’m going to paint it in earth tones, I think,” he says, more for something to say, and Blaine’s eyes stop when they meet his. “You can help me pick the colors, if you want.” 

Blaine doesn’t move, just raises his index finger in the way Kurt knows means yes and Kurt smiles. 

“Um…so, a tour?” Kurt asks and Blaine lifts his finger again. Jen moves to push Blaine, eager for something to do, and Kurt lets her. The house is small so it doesn’t take very long, but Kurt feels his anxiety begin to melt at the way Blaine tips his head, eyes roaming and face content. He looks more relaxed than he ever did in the hospital and Kurt has no doubt he made the right choice. The choice to keep Blaine here, take care of him himself, rather than cart him off to some home where nobody knows that he likes cinnamon in his coffee, or his favorite color is red, or if he puts his right sock on first than his whole day is thrown off. 

“Do you mind if we have some time…alone?” Kurt asks hesitantly after the tour. Jen looks to her husband who nods as his eyes fall to Blaine. It’s hard for Kurt to see Blaine like this, body stiff and unmoving in his chair, jaw slightly open, hair cut short to reveal the harsh, red, still-healing scars, only his eyes showing any sort of awareness. He knows Blaine and his parents haven’t always gotten along, but despite their arguments and disappointments, he’s still their child, and Kurt can’t imagine how this must hurt for them. 

“Of course,” Jen says with a forced smile. “Do you want us to bring you back some dinner?” 

Kurt shakes his head. “No thanks.” 

“Alright,” Jen says, and reaches to stroke Blaine’s hand. “We’ll be back later, honey.” 

Blaine shifts his head to look at his mother, mouth twitching in what Kurt knows is supposed to be a smile. Blaine’s father rests a hand on Blaine’s shoulder for a moment and then it’s just them. 

Kurt kneels beside Blaine, drawing his hand between both of his. Blaine looks down at him, eyes shining like he desperately wants to say something, but can’t. His body won’t let him. 

“I hope it’s okay,” Kurt says softly. “I know it’s not what we had in mind for our first home.” 

Blaine squeezes Kurt’s hand and that’s all it takes. The cracks in the careful façade he’s been living behind shatter, and the tears he’s been holding back all day fall.

“I miss you,” he says, voice thick and he presses his forehead into Blaine’s arm. “I miss you so much.” 

He cries for a moment until he feels Blaine shift, hand pulling from Kurt’s as he moves until Kurt is forced to look up. Blaine moves his hand, slowly and stiffly, reaching for Kurt, fingertips barely brushing his cheek. Kurt guides him, fingers wrapping around his wrist as he presses Blaine’s hand into his cheek, feeling the familiar touch, the warmth, the security of _Blaine_. 

Blaine’s eyes find Kurt’s; he looks sad and Kurt knows if he could Blaine would tell him “I’m right here.” He would hold Kurt while he cried, rubbing soothing circles on his back and speak comfortingly about nothing, his voice soft and soothing, and Kurt would snuggle into him, feeling safe and loved. But Blaine can’t do any of these things anymore. They don’t know if he ever will. It’s up to Kurt now. 

“I know,” Kurt whispers, moving Blaine’s hand so he can press a kiss to his palm. And he knows then, they don’t need words. What they have is stronger than language. They don’t need to speak, to scribble silly words on napkins, or write with sticks in the snow. They only need each other, and while it will be difficult and at times they’ll both want to just _quit_ , they will always understand each other. 

For the first time in nearly two months Kurt feels a swell of hope. Like he can do this. _They_ can do this. Just the two of them. 

 

_July 13, 2018_

There are good days and bad days. It’s Friday, three weeks since Blaine came home, and today is a bad day. Kurt knows he shouldn’t get upset. It’s not Blaine’s fault. It’s understandable. But it doesn’t help. It’s just so _hard_ sometimes. So hard when Blaine lashes out, when nothing Kurt says or does can calm him and Kurt feels so broken. 

He’s in their bedroom, clutching Blaine’s pillow to his chest, face buried to hide his tears. Blaine is in the living room, where Kurt left him to cool down. Days like this seem overwhelming, crushing, and sometimes Kurt wonders if anything will ever be right again. The doctors said Blaine’s brain chemistry is all messed up, that his mood swings are as much a chemical imbalance as actual anger, but it doesn’t really matter. It still hurts. 

He stays in the room, letting himself be calmed by the pillow that smells so much of Blaine, until he hears a bang and rushes back into the living room. The lamp that used to sit beside the couch is now on the floor, along with the remote and broken pieces of the coffee cup Kurt knew he shouldn’t have left out this morning. Blaine is scowling down at them, as if the inanimate objects were the ones that beat his head in and left him broken and hurting. 

Kurt doesn’t say anything, knows nothing he could say will help, just crouches down and picks up the fallen objects, moving them to the kitchen. When he returns, Blaine has moved to glare at his knees and Kurt can see the long red lines he’s scratched into his arm. 

“Oh, Blaine,” he says, grasping Blaine’s arm gently to get a better look, biting his lip at the way the scratches have puffed up, blood welling at the end. Blaine just shakes Kurt off, arms jerking in towards himself, message clear. 

“Blaine, honey, can I look?” Kurt tries to make his voice as gentle as possible, but it doesn’t work. Blaine shifts away from Kurt, drawing his arms tighter to his body. 

“Don’t be like this, Blaine, please,” Kurt pleads, knowing his words are useless but unable to stop them. “I want to help.” 

Blaine’s breaths begin to get more ragged and he coughs that familiar, terrible cough, trying to get his breathing back under control. Kurt knows he is working himself up, that he is at risk of bringing about a seizure, and Kurt will be the cause.

“Do you want me to leave?” Kurt asks quietly and Blaine lifts his index finger. Yes. Kurt just nods and slips into the kitchen, swallowing his tears. He stands there for a moment, hands gripping the counter tightly as he listens to Blaine cough, each ragged breath cutting into him. 

With shaky hands Kurt pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds the desired number.

“Kurt?” Rachel sounds surprised when she answers. She had been by to see Blaine in the hospital a few times, and had brought them a questionable vegan dinner after they first moved into their house, but other than that, they haven’t kept in touch. Kurt hasn’t been keeping in touch with anyone, really. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, hating how desperate he knows he sounds. 

“Kurt, what’s wrong?” Rachel sounds concerned. “Is everything okay?” 

Kurt is silent a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“I just…I can’t, Rachel,” the words spill out and he knows he doesn’t make sense but he doesn’t care. “I don’t know who else to talk to.” 

“What’s going on?” Rachel’s voice is gentle, encouraging. “Is it Blaine?” 

Kurt nods and then remembers she can’t see him. He sags to the floor, back pressing against the counter, free hand cupping his forehead. 

“Yeah…he just…he’s really upset and I don’t know,” he bites his lip, eyes darting towards the entrance that leads to Blaine. “I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“Maybe you don’t have to fix it,” Rachel says quietly. “You can’t fix everything, Kurt.” 

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and a tear tracks down his cheek. He takes a shaky breath. 

“I just need to get out,” the words surprise him even as he says them. “I need to get away. Just for a few hours.” 

Rachel is silent for a moment. 

“Do you want me to watch him?” she offers. “I can come over tonight and you can take a break.” 

Kurt thinks it over. “I feel so guilty…leaving him. Like I’m not strong enough to be here for him.” 

“Kurt, we might not talk much, but I _know_ you. I know you’re working yourself to death at work and taking care of Blaine. You need a break every once and a while. You’re the strongest person I know, besides me, but even we need breathers sometimes.” 

Kurt smiles slightly. “Thank you, Rachel.” 

“I’ll be there in an hour.” 

It’s almost six when Rachel arrives, in a dress Kurt’s pretty sure used to be a homeless person’s blanket. But he’s so glad to see her he doesn’t even say anything. They hug for a long while in the entrance, Kurt relaxing into her arms, realizing how long it’s been since he had someone hold _him_. It’s nice, comforting. 

When they finally pull apart, Kurt leads her to the living room where Blaine is still tense and scowling. 

“Hey Blaine,” Rachel says cheerfully. Blaine looks up in slight surprise but quickly returns his gaze back to the floor. 

“Blaine?” Kurt tries to draw Blaine’s attention, but Blaine acts as though he doesn’t hear him. Kurt’s not surprised. He continues speaking anyways. “I’m going to go…run some errands. Rachel’s going to stay here with you, okay?” 

Only the slight shifting of Blaine’s shoulder gives any indication that he heard. Rachel looks concerned but Kurt just shakes his head at her and leads her into the kitchen. 

“He’ll probably be like this all night,” Kurt explains and Rachel’s eyes are sad. 

“Is he okay?” she asks and Kurt shrugs. 

“He’s frustrated. He can’t do what he used to and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, I think. He’s angry at everything. He’s angry at me.” 

Rachel looks ready to cry. “What do I need to do?” 

Kurt explains it to her, how to hook up his feeding tube if he actually decides to eat, how to transfer him, the warning signs of a seizure. Rachel just nods and takes it all in and Kurt has never respected her more than in that moment. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Kurt asks before he leaves. “I can stay if you’re not comfortable.” 

Rachel waves him off. “We’ll be fine. I have your number. Go have fun.” 

Kurt leaves and Blaine doesn’t move. 

He drives to the first decent bar he can find and its crowded, which Kurt figures makes sense on a Friday. He makes his way to the bar, sitting awkwardly on a stool and ordering an Appletini. It’s strange how, despite the crowd, he’s never felt more alone. Like there is something missing, an empty space beside him waiting to be filled. 

It takes exactly twelve minutes and twenty-four seconds for Kurt to regret coming here. He’s tempted to leave, abandon his drink and drive home and tell Blaine he’ll never walk out on him again, no matter how much Blaine hates him. But he doesn’t. He knows Rachel would force him back out, and he doesn’t want to seem needy. Like he _needs_ Blaine the way he so desperately does. He needs to prove, more to himself than anyone, that he’s okay alone for awhile.

So he sips his drink, trying to take comfort in the blanket of sound surrounding him, voices chattering excitedly, music drifting from the dance floor, the clatter of shot glasses as they’re passed around. After awhile he begins to feel some of the stress ebbing from his shoulders, his headache slowly disappearing, something he attributes to the alcohol. 

“What’s a gorgeous guy like you doing out here alone?”

 Kurt starts as a voice cuts through the wave of calm that was beginning to envelop him. The owner of the voice sits next to him, tall and blond and dreamy, with big green eyes and golden skin. 

“Rough day,” Kurt responds and it’s been so long since he’s had to interact with people that aren’t work and aren’t Blaine that he’s not really sure how to act anymore. 

“That’s a shame,” the man says, sounding like he means it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Kurt nods even though he knows he shouldn’t. He can feel his gut twisting, the thought of Blaine sitting at home, unable to go out even if he wanted to, squeezes his heart until he feels like he can’t breathe but it’s been so long since anyone has bought him a drink. Since anyone has really paid _that_ kind of attention to him. 

“I’m Aaron,” the man introduces himself after he orders Kurt another Appletini and Kurt finds himself giving his own name.

“Why did you come over here?” Kurt asks suddenly, knows he’s breaking every social rule in the book but he doesn’t really care. “Why me?”

Aaron shrugs. “You looked lonely. I wanted to cheer you up.” 

Kurt stares into the clear green of his drink. “Do you ever feel like…however hard you try, you can’t get it right? No matter what you do?”

“He can feel Aaron’s eyes looking at him curiously. “Do you have to? No one gets everything right. Not all the time.” 

Kurt doesn’t say anything, just stares morosely into his glass. Aaron talks, asking Kurt polite questions which Kurt answers. He’s sweet and charming and everything Kurt could want. Everything he could need and Kurt finds himself imagining a simpler life. A life free of doctor visits, of therapy and feeding tubes and the ever present fear of seizures. Kurt thinks it sounds nice. Easy. 

After an hour of gentle conversation and daydreams Aaron drops his hand, resting it lightly on Kurt’s leg and everything hits Kurt all at once. Blaine’s at home, hurting and broken, and Kurt just _left_ him, pawned him off on someone else. Blaine, his fiancé, the only man he’s ever loved, will ever love. Suddenly this man next to him seems so insignificant and Kurt doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t care if Blaine is angry at the world, or at him, he’s the only one he ever wants to be with, damaged or not. 

“I have to go,” Kurt says quickly and Aaron withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

And with that he’s gone. 

When he gets back home he can hear Rachel singing before he even gets inside. It shouldn’t surprise him, Rachel never changes. What does surprise him is Blaine, smiling and relaxed. Rachel stops when he enters, beaming, her eyes betraying that she’s not surprised to see him back so soon. 

“Blaine’s helping me practice,” Rachel explains. “He’s giving me one finger for perfect and two for beyond perfect.” 

Kurt smiles, not having the heart to tell her that two fingers actually means the opposite. Means _no_.

“Now that I have more of an audience, I shall perform the number I’ve been practicing for my next audition,” Rachel doesn’t give Kurt a chance to speak, looking at the couch pointedly for him to sit. He obeys, sitting close enough to Blaine to feel the warmth of his body, but not quite touching, offering space if he wants it. Halfway  through Rachel’s ballad (which Kurt has to admit is fantastic) he feels Blaine’s hand move, reaching down and pressing against Kurt’s leg. Unlike the first time tonight, this feels so _right_ and Kurt knows he made the right choice. 

As he threads his fingers through Blaine’s squeezing tightly and ignoring Rachel’s triumphant smile, he knows everything is okay. That sometimes even the bad days can become good ones. That he’s right where he belongs.

And he’ll never leave again. 


	3. A Time of Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the moments he has in his dreams, the ones where Blaine does everything the doctors told him he’d never do again and Kurt wants to scream at the world "that’s my boyfriend and he’s accomplished more than you ever will." But he doesn’t, cause that would be rude and ridiculous, even for him.

_November 24_ _th_ _, 2018_

When it happens, Kurt thinks he’s dreaming. It’s shortly after midnight and Kurt is just beginning to drift off, the stress of work keeping him awake longer than normal despite his best efforts to fall asleep, because he so does not need rings under his eyes tomorrow. It’s at the point between sleep and consciousness, where the world begins to twist and everything seems soft and distorted that he hears it. Barely a sigh, just a single breathy word. 

“Kurt.” 

Kurt blinks, the beginnings of sleep slowly creeping away as awareness returns. He shifts, propping himself on one arm so he can look over Blaine’s shoulder; his face is relaxed with sleep, his parted lips moving slightly, his breaths slow and deep. Kurt focuses, ears perked. 

“Kurt.” There it is again, barely audible, but _there_ and Kurt is sure he’s not dreaming. He sits up quickly, scooting slightly so he can gently roll Blaine onto his back. Blaine stirs at the movement, eyes cracking blearily and Kurt knows he’ll fall right back asleep if he doesn’t say something. 

“Hey, Blaine,” he says softly, brushing Blaine’s cheek lightly.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s brow creases slightly and Kurt feels his heart leap into his throat. Blaine is still too fuzzy with sleep to understand what’s happening and he rolls himself towards Kurt. 

“Blaine,” Kurt tries, reluctant to wake Blaine up but the hammering of his heart won’t let him not try. “Blaine, you said my name.” 

“-m sleep,” Blaine mumbles, lips barely moving but he _said_ it. Kurt heard it and he’s certainly not dreaming. Not anymore. Blaine tries to snuggle into him but even at night when his body is the most relaxed his movements are still stiff and awkward. Kurt lays back down, helping Blaine until their foreheads are touching, Kurt’s hand resting on Blaine’s waist. 

“I love you,” Kurt says softly. Blaine’s eyelashes are dark against his skin as they give a small flutter and Blaine snuggles in closer. 

“-ove hmm…” Kurt can feel the small vibrations when Blaine speaks. Every week they go to speech therapists, occupational therapists, physical therapists, cognitive therapists, and Blaine is trying so, so hard. Kurt can see it in the intense look he gets in his eyes, the way his hands tense up and his brow furrows. He’s made sounds, trying desperately hard to force his mouth to form the letters needed to say the words he wants, but Kurt thinks that’s the problem. He tries _too_ hard, works himself up, stresses himself out and he can’t. The words fall dead on lips that refuse to cooperate, a tongue that is suddenly awkward and clumsy. 

But now, loose from the calm of sleep, with no pressure to perform and no one to let down, there’s nothing stopping him. And Kurt knows Blaine can do it. Someday, hopefully soon, Blaine will let down whatever guards he has up, will hold Kurt’s hand and say those three little words that mean so much. Kurt has no doubt.  

He falls asleep listening to Blaine’s wordless mumbling, the sound sweeter than any bedtime lullaby could ever be.

 

 _December 25_ _th_ _, 2018_

Kurt is a flurry of activity, moving around so fast Blaine had long ago stopped trying to keep up with him. The Hummel-Hudson family is arriving in T-minus two hours and Kurt hasn’t stopped moving all day, muttering about whether the throw pillows match the Christmas ornaments, or if he dares to use the fine china with Finn around, or if mistletoe is homey and cute or just tacky, and he’s batted away any of Blaine’s attempts to help. 

“Are the tea cozies too much?” Kurt asks, brow furrowing in real concentration. Blaine shakes his head. “No.” 

Kurt looks at him and smiles, as he does every time Blaine speaks, like he can’t get enough of his voice. Which is true. Every time Blaine says something Kurt feels his heart flutter and he’s struck with the overwhelming sense of how _far_ they’ve come. How much progress Blaine has made, even after all those doctors told them everything not to expect. What do they know about Blaine? 

“Kurt,” Blaine’s soft, slightly stilted voice stops Kurt’s fussing. Kurt is immediately beside Blaine and he can almost feel the nervous energy crackling off him. 

“I have…” Blaine pauses and Kurt waits patiently for him to find the words. Since Blaine started speaking he has surprised both Kurt and the speech therapist with this improvements, but he still has a long way to go. He often has trouble finding the right words and forgets what he’s saying halfway through. He will mix up his words and sentences, or say things that just don’t make sense. But any progress is good progress. 

“I have a pr-esent,” Blaine says after a moment, struggling on the _p_ sound. 

“We’re doing presents tomorrow, remember?” Kurt reminds. Blaine shakes his head. 

“I want to… just you.”

“You want me to open it before the others get here?” Kurt interprets and Blaine nods enthusiastically. Kurt raises an eyebrow, intrigued. 

“I suppose,” he says. “Dad and Carole never have to know.” 

With a wink Kurt grabs the small box that had appeared under their tree one day when he was at work. It’s surprisingly light and Kurt flops onto the couch beside Blaine before carefully peeling off the tape and unwrapping it without a single tear in the paper (something Kurt prides himself in). He opens the box and stares. In it sits a single sheet of white paper, adorned with Blaine’s shaky handwriting. 

 _Take my hands_. That’s all it says. Kurt looks at Blaine in confusion and Blaine just smiles and holds out his hands. Kurt takes them in his own and Blaine’s eyes motion expectantly in front of him and Kurt stands, thoroughly confused. Blaine’s fingers squeeze his tightly and his arms tense as he begins to pull himself up. Kurt starts, bracing himself so he isn’t pulled on top of Blaine. 

“Blaine, what…?” He takes half a step back and Blaine is standing all the way. This in itself isn’t that unusual, Kurt helps Blaine stand to transfer into his chair, or the bed, the car. What makes Kurt give a surprised squeak is how Blaine lifts his right foot and steps forward, and then his left, until he’s pressing against Kurt. 

“Blaine…” Kurt breathes, sliding his hands down Blaine’s forearms to his elbows, offering more support. Blaine smiles that _Blaine_ smile, the one that melts Kurt’s heart every time, without fail.

“Move,” Blaine says and Kurt takes a step back obediently. Blaine follows, leaning heavily on Kurt for balance but still _walking_. 

“Blaine, you’re walking,” Kurt says, voice high with disbelief. Blaine’s toe drags on the floor and he stumbles but Kurt is there, grip tightening as he steps forward and wraps his arms around Blaine, hugging him tightly. These are the moments he has in his dreams, the ones where Blaine does everything the doctors told him he’d never do again and Kurt wants to scream at the world _that’s my boyfriend and he’s accomplished more than you ever will_. But he doesn’t, cause that would be rude and ridiculous, even for him. He does hold Blaine closer, tears pricking his eyes as Blaine looks up and says, “Merry Christmas.” 

Kurt is pretty sure this is the best Christmas ever. 

 

 _March 16_ _th_ _, 2019_

The match flares to life with a hiss and Kurt watches the flame for a moment before lowering it to the candle. Call him a hopeless romantic, call him cheesy, call him whatever you want, but Kurt’s been planning this night all week and he doesn’t want anything to ruin it. Certainly not artificial lighting, and the relaxing scent of a vanilla soy candle can only help him at this point. 

Blaine, propped up against the headboard in a comfortable nest of pillows, is looking at him curiously as Kurt tears his eyes from the flickering lights (he’s spent the past ten minutes lighting a total of twenty-three candles) and Kurt swallows down his nerves. He’s sure about this. He talked to Blaine’s doctor, which was possibly the most horribly uncomfortable and embarrassing conversation he’s ever had and he intends to never repeat ever. _Ever._ But he got the okay go, and that’s what matters.

With a deep breath Kurt squashes the thought of the stuffy old man and focuses on _now_. His heart pounds as he crawls up on the bed beside Blaine, snuggling into him, just spending a moment to breathe in his scent and, even though he doesn’t really want to admit it, calm his nerves. It’s been so long, and Kurt wants everything to be perfect. 

“Doing a séance or some…something?” Blaine asks, sounding amused. Kurt just leans forward and presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, the stubble rough on his lips, but not unpleasant. Blaine turns his head to look at Kurt, eyes confused. Kurt moves and brushes his lips against Blaine’s, unable to ignore the excited flip of his stomach. He presses forward into a closed mouth kiss, eyes fluttering shut and he almost feels like sobbing at the emotions that are pulsing through his veins. He hasn’t kissed Blaine, not like this, since _before_. There have been kisses, many, many kisses, but always his cheek, or his forehead, his hand, even the lips, but never like this, never this passion and desire behind them. It just didn’t feel right, not then. But now…Kurt doesn’t think anything has ever felt _more_ right in his entire life. 

After several long moments in which Kurt forgets to breathe he pulls away, tongue flickering over his lips breathlessly. Blaine’s eyes are closed and Kurt makes a noise that sounds half between a laugh and a sob and he wishes his emotions would just figure themselves out right now. Blaine’s eyes open at that and there’s a swirl of emotion in them that Kurt figures probably just about matches his. 

Instead of saying anything Kurt just leans in again, inhaling deeply. This kiss is more desperate, but just as tender, and Kurt lets his mouth open slightly, his tongue lightly tracing Blaine’s lip. Blaine is still and for a single, heart-wrenching moment Kurt wonders if this is too much, if he’s overstepping and Blaine just isn’t ready. And then he responds, hand reaching to grip Kurt’s bicep as his lips part, soft breath exhaling and Kurt hasn’t realized how much he’s missed this until right now, in this moment. 

Kurt lets his tongue make its way slowly into Blaine’s mouth and Blaine arches his head up, inviting Kurt in. Kurt shifts himself awkwardly so that he’s almost on top of Blaine, hand reaching behind Blaine’s neck. They kiss like this for awhile; it’s slow and lazy and careful, but more beautiful than anything Kurt’s ever felt. When they finally pull apart Blaine looks flushed, cheeks rosy and lips a dark red. Kurt smiles. 

“Was that okay?” he asks and Blaine just nods, too flustered to try and find the right words. Feeling far more confident than when he started, Kurt gazes into Blaine’s eyes without blinking, searching for even the slightest warning of _too far, too much_ as his hand slides under the covers and he lightly presses into Blaine over his pajamas. Blaine’s eyes widen and he jolts slightly. Kurt’s fingers move to toy with the elastic of Blaine’s waistband. 

“Can I?” He stops and waits for permission, wanting to take this at a pace Blaine is comfortable with. Blaine nods and Kurt kisses Blaine’s jaw line up to his ear where he whispers, voice sounding more nervous and excited than he would like it too. 

“If it’s too much, if you feel uncomfortable _at all_ , just pinch me and I’ll stop, okay?” Blaine nods again and Kurt kisses the soft skin right below his earlobe. “I love you so much.” 

With that his fingers sneak under the elastic and he takes Blaine in his hand. Blaine lets out a breathy moan that makes Kurt’s heart pound with excitement. He strokes him softly and Blaine’s breathing gets heavy, eyes fluttering shut once again, as he slowly gets hard. Kurt takes his time, just like the doctor had instructed. Blaine might not respond like normal, he had said. It might take him longer, or it might not happen at all. Don’t get your hopes up. Be prepared to go slow. 

A sharp gasp erases all thoughts of the doctor from Kurt’s mind. Even after eleven months Kurt still remembers how to make Blaine come undone and Blaine shudders below him as Kurt wraps him in his fist and strokes up, thumb teasing the tip, before easing back down. Blaine buries his head in Kurt’s shoulder, his breaths coming quicker, hair dampening with sweat. Kurt revels in _Blaine_ , in the way their bodies fit so perfectly, the way their hearts seem to beat in time, the electricity that flows between them, draws them together until Kurt is certain they have never been his connected. It doesn’t matter that Blaine can barely speak in full sentences on the best of days, or that Kurt has to go painstakingly slow. It doesn’t matter that Blaine’s is broken, that his skull is full of fault lines and screws. The only thing that matters is that nothing can ever pull them apart. Kurt won’t let it.

Blaine’s fist wraps in Kurt’s shirt, his body quivering, his whimpers desperate and needy and Kurt increases his speed ever so slightly, and that’s all it takes. Blaine shudders with a moan and goes limp against him, Kurt stroking him softly through. 

He rubs gentle circles on Blaine’s back as his breathing slows down to normal and Blaine stirs, looking up. Kurt feels his stomach drop at the tears that are still damp on Blaine’s cheek. 

“Oh my god, did I hurt you?” Kurt asks in a panic. “Was it too much? Oh my god, I’m so sorry…” 

Blaine’s lips on his swallow the rest of Kurt’s frantic apology and Kurt feels himself relaxing. When Blaine pulls away he’s smiling, pupils still blown as he leans back into his nest of pillows, pulling Kurt in with him. 

“I love you,” Blaine’s words are barely above a whisper but it’s enough. Kurt kisses away a fresh tear and Blaine’s eyes are wide and honest. 

“I feel so…” Blaine goes quiet and Kurt strokes Blaine’s cheek, waiting patiently. “So lucky.” 

And that’s what does it. Kurt feels the hot prick of his own tears because Blaine…gentle, trusting, wonderful, beautiful Blaine. Despite everything he’s gone through, despite all the pain and fear and frustration of the past eleven months, the only word Blaine uses to describe himself is _lucky_. 

“I’m lucky too,” Kurt whispers back, pulling Blaine in until his head rests against Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt buries his lips in Blaine’s hair. 

“I have you.” 


	4. To Sleep, To Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no question in the matter. Blaine and Kurt are as perfect a couple as he’s ever seen, and without Blaine everything just feels…off-balance. There is no counter weight to hold Kurt up, and nothing will be able to stop his fall if Blaine is gone.

_May 7_ _th_ _, 2018_

The coffee mug slips from Kurt’s fingers, crashes to the floor. He stares at it for a minute, watching with disinterest as the brown liquid spreads out over the floor, seeping into the sage green kitchen rug. Slowly he kneels, fingers wrapping around a shard of cool, broken glass. He holds it up to his face, examining the way the glass cracked in a straight line, jutting sharply into a pointed edge. The white of the glaze looks like bone, and Kurt wonders if this is what Blaine’s skull looks like. Sharp angles, harsh fault lines, jagged edges. Kurt looks back down at the shards on the floor, knowing that the mug can never be put back together. There are too many pieces, like an unsolvable puzzle. The mug is no longer a mug, just broken glass. 

Kurt drops the glass and leans back against the cupboards, closing his eyes against his tears. The silence of the apartment feels crushing, like it’s wrapping around his throat and seeping into his pores and completely overwhelming him. His breathing begins to get ragged and he’s not even sure why he’s feeling like this; he’s not really thinking about anything. Or maybe he’s thinking about everything. Kurt can’t even tell anymore. Tears leak from behind closed eyes and his good hand fists at the coffee stained rug, looking for any outlet of his feelings. 

Someone is knocking at the door, but Kurt doesn’t hear it. He feels wrapped up, stifled, consumed. The door creaks open and footsteps pad gently into the room, pause, and then speed up. Kurt can feel someone sit beside him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and pulling him into them. For a brief, hopeful moment he imagines it’s Blaine. Blaine who was always so good at comforting, who knew exactly how to make him feel better. But it’s not, it can’t be, it never will be again. Kurt feels himself shaking harder, his lungs refusing to expand properly, his vision beginning to tunnel. 

“Hey, Kurt, deep breaths, okay?” a deep voice, his father’s, commands. Kurt tries to obey but can’t, his body refuses to cooperate and he feels like he’s going to suffocate. Tears mix with panic as he gasps for breath.

“Relax Kurt,” Burt’s voice is harder, more of an order, but his hand rubs soothingly on Kurt’s back. “Relax and breathe.” 

Kurt focuses on relaxing, feels himself sinking into his father’s side, face burying in his shoulder, and slowly he gets his breathing under control. Burt’s shirt is growing damp from Kurt’s tears and Kurt knows he should feel embarrassed but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel much of anything really.  

“It’s okay, Kurt, just breathe.” Burt’s voice is soft, comforting. Kurt takes a deep, shaky breath. 

“I broke the mug,” he mumbles into Burt’s shirt. “I broke it and I can’t fix it.” 

Burt pulls Kurt closer into him, his presence warm and soothing. 

“It’s alright, Kurt, it’s not your fault,” Burt says and Kurt feels himself going limp, all energy leaving his body. He just wants to sleep, to pretend the last two weeks never happened, and in his father’s strong arms, he feels like he can. Burt rubs a hand up and down Kurt’s arm, speaking words that Kurt doesn’t hear.

After a few moments Kurt can feel Burt shifting, one arm wrapping around his back and the other sliding under his knees. With a groan Burt stands, carrying Kurt like he used to when he was a little boy. Unfortunately, at twenty-five, Kurt isn’t little anymore, and while thin, isn’t necessarily light, and Kurt knows he should stand, shouldn’t put the strain on his father that he knows he is, but he just feels so _tired._ Like he would just collapse back on the floor and not move the minute his feet touch the ground. So he lets his father carry him through the small apartment, setting him on his unmade bed. On Blaine’s side, Kurt notes distantly, wondering why the thought doesn’t make his heart clench like it should. His crying has stopped, the ache in his chest gone, and his head feels heavy, like it’s stuffed with lead, and there’s a weird buzzing in his ears. 

“Get some sleep, Kurt,” Burt’s voice makes its way through the heavy blanket of numbness that has settled over Kurt and he feels his eyes drifting shut. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Kurt sleeps. 

The sun is shining brightly into the room when he wakes up, blinking groggily. The clock beside the bed announces that it’s early afternoon and Kurt’s mind feels fuzzy with confusion. He slips out of bed, rubbing his eyes with his uncasted arm and enters the small living room. Burt is sitting on the couch, flipping through one of Kurt’s many fashion magazines, not really looking at it. He stand when Kurt enters, concern evident in his eyes.

“Hey bud, how you feeling?” Kurt shrugs and plops heavily onto the couch. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Kurt just shrugs again. Burt sits next to him, and Kurt stares blankly ahead.

“Kurt, I know this is difficult for you,” Burt begins and Kurt makes no indication of having heard him. “But you can’t close up like this. It’s not healthy.” 

“What…” Kurt coughs, clearing his throat. “What if he doesn’t…doesn’t wake up?” 

“Blaine’s a fighter,” Burt says. “He won’t give up.”

“What if he does?” Kurt’s voice is choked. 

“He won’t,” Burt responds simply, wanting desperately to believe it himself. If Kurt is like this when Blaine is in a coma, he can’t imagine what will happen if he doesn’t make it. To Kurt, to him, to the whole family. Blaine has become an extension of Kurt, a fully ingrained member of the family, and Burt hadn’t hesitated a second when Blaine had come to him asking if he could propose to his son. There is no question in the matter. Blaine and Kurt are as perfect a couple as he’s ever seen, and without Blaine everything just feels…off-balance. There is no counter weight to hold Kurt up, and nothing will be able to stop his fall if Blaine is gone. Not even Burt. 

And this, ironically, is when everything changes. Kurt’s phone erupts in music from across the room and Kurt is instantly on his feet, a mix of hope and fear flooding his heart, as it does every time his phone rings. 

“Hello?” He is completely still as he listens and Burt watches with concern and Kurt’s face twists, his grip on the phone tightening until his knuckles turn white. 

“Thank you, we’ll be right there.” Kurt’s voice is tight and he’s visibly trying to remain calm as he hangs up the phone and turns to Burt. 

“He’s awake,” Kurt’s breath leaves him with a noise that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob. “He woke up.” 

Burt doesn’t think he’s ever felt so relieved in his life. 

The drive to the hospital takes approximately thirty-five minutes with traffic and Kurt is a ball of nervous energy. He’s having trouble breathing, but in a completely different way than before. Blaine’s awake. _Blaine’s awake_. After two weeks of endless waiting, of being told by doctors that the longer he takes, the less likely it is, Blaine is finally proving them all wrong. 

They hadn’t offered any information over the phone, telling him they would explain everything when he got to the hospital and it makes his stomach twist in nervousness, but he refuses to let his mind go there. He won’t consider the worst until he sees it. For now, he lets himself be consumed with the fact that Blaine actually woke up. 

They get to the hospital, walking the familiar route to Blaine’s room, Blaine’s mother and a nurse meeting them outside his door. Kurt tries to ignore the sad looks on their faces. 

“Is he…” Kurt tries to peer through the crack in the door, but can’t make out anything. “How is he?” 

Jen Anderson looks at the nurse, who nods at her. 

“He’s in and out of consciousness, which is normal for how long he’s been in the coma,” Jen pauses, lips forming a thin line as she breathes deeply through her nose. “They’ve been doing some tests when he’s awake…he…” 

Her voice stops, like its stuck on her tongue and she can’t seem to get it out. The nurse takes over when it becomes obvious Jen can’t continue. Kurt feels fear coiling in his stomach. 

“Blaine is responding to very simple commands, but it’s obvious he has some pretty severe brain damage. It’s hard to tell how severe right now, we’ll have to wait until he is more awake, but right now, it’s looking pretty serious.” 

Kurt’s mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy. They had suspected he would have brain damage, you can’t go through that kind of injury and come away unscathed, but to hear it confirmed…it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“C-can I see him?” Kurt manages to say, just wanting to get past the nurse and her horrible words and see his fiancé. The nurse nods with a sad smile.

“We’ve gotten him to blink a few times when he ask him to, if you want to try talking with him. But don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t respond at all,” the nurse tells Kurt as she lets him slip past her into the room. Jen stands in the door, but otherwise no one follows and Kurt feels grateful for the privacy. 

Blaine’s bed has been raised into a sitting position and he’s taking deep, even breaths. Kurt sits cautiously beside him, reaching to grip his hand. Blaine’s eyes blink sluggishly open and Kurt feels his heart swelling; it’s the first time he’s seen Blaine’s eyes in two weeks. 

“Blaine,” the name comes out as a choked sob. Hazel eyes move slowly towards his voice and Kurt scoots himself forward into Blaine’s line of vision. 

“Hey,” Kurt says timidly. Now that he’s here, the moment he’s waited for for so long, he’s not really sure what to do. Blaine’s eyes move over Kurt, not quite focusing. His face, still slightly swollen and edged with purple, is relaxed, jaw slightly open, only the slightest crease between his eyebrows. 

“Welcome back.” Blaine blinks slowly. Kurt thinks his heart might thud out of his chest. Blaine’s finger twitches in his hand and Kurt looks down. 

“I was so worried, so worried I would never see you again,” Kurt feels tears leaking from his eyes again but he doesn’t really care. All that matters is Blaine is here, really _here_ , and while everything is so far from perfect, Kurt finds joy and _hope_ growing inside him. Everything has hinged on this moment. Blaine waking up. That was the only thing Kurt has been able to focus on, the single moment he’s been waiting for. Now it’s happened, and Kurt knows things can only get better from here. He _believes_ , more strongly than he’s believed in anything before. 

Blaine’s eyes are starting to slip shut and Kurt presses a kiss to his forehead, careful of the stitches and bruises. 

“I love you, Blaine. I don’t know if you can understand me, but I’ve been waiting to tell you. I love you so much.” 

Kurt keeps his face close to Blaine’s, locking their eyes and taking in everything he can from this moment, a moment he had feared he would never have again. Blaine blinks slowly and Kurt knows. Even if Blaine doesn’t understand his words, he knows Kurt loves him. Kurt’s certain. 

“You can sleep,” Kurt says, feeling lighter than he’s felt in two weeks. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

As Blaine’s eyes close and his breathing evens out Kurt settles in to wait. Blaine will wake up again. And Kurt will be here. He’ll always be here. No matter what.  


	5. (fear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt loves Blaine. He loves Blaine, but a niggling part of him wonders if he can do this. It’s so much responsibility. Blaine, who can’t do anything for himself, relying on him. Kurt’s afraid. He’s afraid of himself.

_June 5 th, 2018_  
   
Kurt’s fingers grip the cool metal handle leading into Blaine’s room. He pauses, resting his forehead against the wood and inhaling deeply. It smells like cedar and antiseptic. He’s starting to feel drained, empty. It’s been two weeks since he went back to work, and most evenings he spends at the hospital, or driving the hour fix up their new house, or swamped in the tiny apartment working to catch up on everything he missed at work. It’s exhausting.  
  
It’s not just the physical part either. The cast on his arm has been freshly removed, stitches finally gone and to the rest of the world Kurt is healed. No one could tell, meeting him on the street, what has happened to him, how broken his life really is. What he’s going through every single day. Blaine’s been making improvements, but not how Kurt imagined. Except for when his mom had been sick and his dad had been in the hospital, he’s never really been exposed to  _this_. To injuries and healing and recovery. He hadn’t known what to expect, and the effort and energy he’s put into helping Blaine, and worrying about Blaine, and  _everything_   _Blaine_  has been wearing him down.  
  
And sometimes he wonders. He feels immediately guilty, quickly pushing the thoughts from his mind, sick to his stomach. But they linger anyways. He wonders how long he can keep doing this. If there will be a point where it’s just  _too much_. How long can he take care of Blaine? What if he’s like this forever? If he never improves, stuck in this half-state, only able to communicate with the furrow of his eyebrows and the lift of a finger.  
  
Kurt loves Blaine. He  _loves_ Blaine, but a niggling part of him wonders if he can do this. It’s so much responsibility. Blaine, who can’t do anything for himself, relying on  _him_. Kurt’s afraid. He’s afraid of himself. Of what he’ll do. He’s never been one to handle stress well, he’s known to lash out, to put up his defenses, to push away those close to him. And forever is such a long time. It scares him.  
  
And yet, he can’t imagine life without Blaine. Blaine’s father had approached him before they began their house hunt, armed with pamphlets and numbers and doctor recommendations, suggesting they put Blaine away. Send him to some home with others like him. He could visit whenever he wants and Blaine would receive top quality care twenty-four/seven. It had been almost appealing; it would just be so easy and Kurt would never have to worry. But one look at Blaine’s face the next day, so full of trust and love and hurt, and Kurt knew he couldn’t. The guilt at even thinking it made him nauseous.  
  
There’s a click as he turns the handle and opens the door.  
  
“Hey Blaine,” Kurt says as he does every day, silence his only response. Like every day, Kurt approaches the bed and takes Blaine’s hand in his, sitting in the chair that never moves from his bedside. Blaine’s head shifts towards him, his fingers twitching and Kurt smiles, pushing aside his mess of emotions for now.  
  
“Did you have a good day?” Blaine lifts a finger in affirmative.  
  
“It’s cause the cute physical therapist was here, isn’t it?” Kurt teases, and the corner of Blaine’s lip pulls up slightly.  
  
“I don’t know what you see in him, whoever takes that much time trying to make their hair look like they didn’t style it can’t be trusted,” Kurt says with an exaggerated shake of his head and a smile. Blaine’s eyes stay rested on Kurt’s face and Kurt would give anything to know what he’s thinking. What he’s  _feeling_.  
  
“Rachel wants to come visit again,” Kurt says after a moment. These one-sided conversations still throw him off sometimes and he misses Blaine’s voice. It’s only been six weeks and already the memories of Blaine’s soft, comforting, always earnest voice are slipping away and Kurt wants to grab them, hold them close, and never let them go. “She thinks she can heal you through song or something ridiculous. I wasn’t sure what to tell her. She always gets her way anyways, so I suppose there’s no point denying her.”  
  
Kurt swallows and sits back, never letting go of Blaine’s hand.  
  
“Work has been busy. Sarah did a valiant job while I was gone but there’s still so much to get done. And Ted, god. I think his fashion-sense regressed without me there to judge him every day. He wore  _tweed_  today. I don’t care if his only job is to make coffee and straighten desks, I won’t have inferior fabrics walking around and interfering with my ability to think clearly.”  
  
Kurt knows he’s rambling. He does this every day, talking about nothing, filling Blaine in on work drama, current events, what trouble trashy celebrities are getting themselves into. He thinks Blaine likes it. It seems like he does. His eyes stay on Kurt’s face as he talks, fingers moving occasionally, shoulders relaxing.  
  
After awhile Kurt runs out of things to talk about and they sit in silence. Kurt strokes the back of Blaine’s hand softly and Blaine sighs, his eyes drifting shut. Blaine looks peaceful when he sleeps, only the angry scars on the side of his head giving any indication of what happened. Kurt watches the rise and fall of Blaine’s chest and feels something stir inside him. He can do this, for Blaine. For himself. It’s scary, it scares him so much he can barely sleep most nights, but he can’t abandon Blaine. He knows without a doubt that if there situations were reversed, if the rusty pipe had met Kurt’s head and not Blaine’s, that Blaine would never give up on him. He would stay at Kurt’s side every step of the way, for the rest of his life, and Kurt knows he will do the same. He’s scared of screwing up, of being overwhelmed, of failing but he will face it all because Blaine  _needs_ him. And he needs Blaine, just as much.  
  
Kurt leans forward and kisses Blaine’s cheek, gently. Blaine’s eyes flutter open, searching out Kurt’s, clouded with slight confusion as if to say  _what was that for?_  Kurt just smiles and rubs the back of his hand.  
  
“You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?” Kurt says softly, eyes holding Blaine’s gaze and the words feel so  _right_. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not letting them take you anywhere so you might as well squash any thoughts you’re having about the physical therapist. You’re stuck with me for good.”  
  
The way Blaine relaxes at the words, his eyes so full of emotion, reminding Kurt this is still  _Blaine_ , makes Kurt’s chest feel tight and he squeezes Blaine’s hand. It never was a choice. Not really. It would always end up this way, Kurt knows. Blaine has always been and will always be the only thing that ever really makes sense in his life. The only thing really holding Kurt together. Even like this.  
  
Dana, one of the nurses Kurt has become familiar with over the last six weeks, interrupts the moment, bustling into the room with energy, giving Kurt a happy smile.  
  
“Hey Kurt, how’s your day?” she asks brightly as she looks over Blaine’s chart.  
  
“Oh you know, I work with imbeciles but that’s nothing new,” Kurt says, looking to Blaine with a wink. Dana chuckles.  
  
“Don’t we all?” she says as she taps something into the computer and then turns to Blaine.  
  
“Hi Blaine, how you feeling today?” Dana approaches the bed, resting her hands on the railing. Blaine raises his finger.  
  
“Good,” Dana says smiling. “I’m just going to reposition you and then we can get started on dinner, sound good?”  
  
Blaine lifts a finger again and Kurt releases his hand, scooting back slightly to let Dana work. He watches intently as Dana moves the pillows propping Blaine slightly to one side, carefully checking him over. Kurt knows she’s looking for bedsores.  
  
“Can I help?” Kurt asks suddenly, surprising even himself. The words come out of their own accord, but Kurt knows why. Soon it’s going to be up to Kurt to take care of Blaine, and while he’s watched enough times to know the basics, he knows he’ll have to learn everything. The nurse pauses for a moment and looks to Kurt like she’s considering her options.  
  
“Sure,” she says with a shrug. “You’ll be doing this soon anyways.”  
  
Dana motions for Kurt to step beside her, explaining what she’s looking for as she checks Blaine over and Kurt listens intently, helping to prop Blaine up as she moves pillows to his other side.  
  
“Do you want to set up his feeding tube?” Dana asks, her voice kind  and not pressuring. Kurt looks at Blaine and swallows, suddenly feeling nervous. He’s actually doing it, he’s taking  _care_  of Blaine. He flexes his hands and nods.  
  
“Alright,” Dana says, leading Kurt to the other side of the room, explaining residuals, what temperature the meal replacer should be, showing him how to prime the tube, how to set everything up on the IV stand, before wheeling it back to Blaine’s side.  
  
Kurt listens as Dana tells him what to do, lifts up Blaine’s old Dalton tee (Kurt insisted on bringing Blaine some of his own clothes to wear, unable to bear the sight of him in the ugly hospital gown anymore) and pauses. His fingers hover over the little plastic button just below Blaine’s ribs and he feels an unexpected wave of emotions come over him. This is  _real_. This is _Blaine_. Blaine who can’t even eat anymore, Blaine who’s life will soon completely depend on Kurt, Blaine who’s been damaged beyond repair.  
  
Kurt’s eyes flicker up to Blaine’s face, stopping, trapped by Blaine’s gaze. Warm hazel eyes look back at him and Kurt can _feel_  the trust coming from them. Blaine’s face is relaxed, his lips parted and unstrained, no crease of worry or frustration between his eyebrows. Blaine completely trusts Kurt, trusts him with his life. Blaine’s hand slides over the sheets until it reaches where Kurt is leaning against the bed and presses against him, his movements jerky and uneven, but Kurt knows he’s trying to offer encouragement. To tell Kurt  _it’s alright, I trust you_.  
  
 _I trust you._  
  
Kurt swallows down the tears that threaten to betray him and breaks eye contact with Blaine, looking back to his exposed stomach. His fingers nimbly pull open the top of Blaine’s feeding tube and he attaches the tubes with a click, turning it to the locked position. He takes care to arrange the tubing so it snakes under Blaine’s arm, the pads of his fingers running along the smooth plastic, wanting to make sure everything is perfect.  
  
“Very good,” Dana says, and Kurt can see that tears that have misted in her eyes and for a moment he feels embarrassed that someone else was witness to such an intimate moment. Instead, Kurt just turns away, lifting his hand to adjust the drip to a level that won’t cramp Blaine’s stomach, just as she had explained.  
  
“You would make a good nurse, if you ever considered a career change,” Dana says and Kurt blushes.  
  
“Thanks, but I think I’ve filled my hospital quota for my lifetime,” Kurt responds, but smiles at her. Dana nods, understanding.  
  
“I can start teaching you, if you’d like,” Dana says as she gathers up the supplies she came in with. “About his cares. Everything you’ll need to know for when he’s discharged.”  
  
Kurt nods and he knows it’s right. “I’d like that.”  
  
“Alright,” she says warmly and gives Kurt and encouraging  pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be great. Don’t worry.”  
  
Kurt just looks down, throat suddenly feeling tight.  
  
“You know the drill, I’ll be back in half an hour to check in,” Dana relieves Kurt of answering and leaving the room with a smile.  
  
Silence fills the room and Kurt stands still for a moment before sinking into the chair. Blaine’s looking at him again, hand drifting towards him and Kurt grabs it, needy.  
  
“I can do this,” Kurt’s words are strong and he’s not sure if they’re for Blaine or for himself. “I can do this.”  
  
He presses his cheek to Blaine’s hand, ignoring the stiffness, so different from the strong, sure hands of Blaine before, and focusing only on the warmth. The connection. The way Blaine’s hand still fits so perfectly in his own, as though they are never meant to part.  
  
“We’ll be okay.” Kurt says into Blaine’s palm and he feels Blaine’s finger twitch, lifting in agreement. Kurt gives a relieved laugh and he feels lighter because he knows.  
  
“We’ll be okay,” Kurt whispers again. And he repeats it all night long.


	6. Coffee is a Bitter Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More frequently Kurt will find himself smiling, warmth radiating in his heart as Blaine becomes more and more Blaine. The Blaine he knew before. The Blaine that has been hidden away for over a year, now beginning to shine, like a sun peeking through the rainclouds that have been hiding it for so long.

_June 22 nd, 2019_  
   
Kurt wakes up to music. He smiles sleepily, the edges of his dream still playing in his mind. He rolls over, reaching to Blaine’s side, fully intending on cuddling with his fiancé on a lazy Saturday morning. His arms stretch across empty blankets.  
  
Eyes snap open in a flash, processing the sight of the empty bed beside him. He sits up, scrambling off the bed, leg tangling in the sheets and he tumbles rather ungracefully to the floor. Not even bothering to be embarrassed, he pushes himself back up to his feet, unable to ignore the panic in his chest. This has never happened before. He’s never woken up without Blaine beside him. Not in fourteen months.  
Blaine must have gotten up on his own. Kurt’s heart feels like it  might thud right out of his chest. What if Blaine fell or had a seizure or evaporated or was abducted or any of the thousands of other scenarios that were running through Kurt’s head?  
  
The music grows louder as Kurt leaves the bedroom, stopping abruptly in the living room.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. Blaine is sitting on the couch, laptop open on the coffee table, The Beatles playing softly from the speakers. Blaine looks over to Kurt, smiling his lopsided grin (the left side never quite reaches the height of the right; a product of nerve damage, the doctors had said).  
  
“God Blaine,” Kurt’s voice sounds shaky as he lowers himself onto the couch, willing his heart to beat at a normal speed. “You scared me. I…I didn’t know where you were.”  
  
“Sorry,” Blaine mumbles softly, looking down.  
  
“You shouldn’t be walking unsupervised,” Kurt says, though he knows he’s nagging. He can’t help it. He just worries  _so_ much.  
  
“I wanted to…music,” Blaine motions to the laptop. “I didn’t want to…to wake you.”  
  
Kurt lets himself sink into Blaine, the panic subsiding as he slips back into the remnants of his sleep.  
  
“Octopus’s Garden?” Kurt asks, raising his eyebrows and he feels Blaine relax, knowing that Kurt isn’t going to chastise him more.  
  
“Shuffle,” Blaine says with a shrug. Kurt hums his response, grabbing the blanket draped over the back of the couch and spreading it across them, snuggling into Blaine, head resting on his shoulder. Blaine shifts his weight until he’s leaning against Kurt, cheek settling into Kurt’s pillow of bed-rustled hair and Kurt decides this is way better than snuggling in bed. The music slips to  _Wicked_  to Coldplay to something new that Kurt doesn’t recognize. Ever since Blaine has been able to use a computer again (his index fingers slowly tapping out words on the keyboard) he’s racked up a bill on their iTunes that Kurt knows he’ll have to talk about soon enough, but the way Blaine’s eyes light up as he explores all the music he’s missed in the past year is enough for Kurt not to care about working late a few days to make up the extra expense.  
  
The doctors say Blaine doesn’t really understand numbers anymore, the concept of money and math and the tiny printed symbols make no sense in his brain. He just wants to listen to music. More frequently Kurt will find himself smiling, warmth radiating in his heart as Blaine becomes more and more  _Blaine_. The Blaine he knew before. The Blaine that has been hidden away for over a year, now beginning to shine, like a sun peeking through the rainclouds that have been hiding it for so long.  
  
Kurt can feel Blaine humming before he hears him. The soft vibrations in his throat, making their way down to his chest, tickling against Kurt’s cheek. When Blaine’s voice quietly begins to accompany the vibrations, Kurt smiles. It’s choppy and not completely on key, but Kurt thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. He would happily give up music forever and only listen to this, Blaine’s progress shown throwing lilting notes and soft melodies.  
  
After awhile Blaine’s voice drifts away, only his thumb tapping the melody on Kurt’s thigh. Kurt stirs, looking up to meet Blaine’s eyes and he smiles.  
  
“Come on,” Kurt says abruptly, jumping to his feet. “Help me make coffee.”  
  
He lowers his hand and Blaine contemplates it for a second before accepting. Kurt knows it’s a lot of work for him, moving around. His brow furrows and his eyes shine intensely as he concentrates on every movement, forcing his body to do what he wants. It’s getting a little easier for him, Kurt can tell. Blaine is getting stronger, both physically and mentally and Kurt feels a swell of pride every time Blaine reaches some new landmark, accomplishes the improbable.  
  
In light of his progress it’s easy to forget how damaged Blaine still is. He’s come so far, recovered so much more than his doctors ever thought he would, but there’s always that lingering word, floating over their heads, waiting to fall.  _Permanent_. At some point they’ll meet it. Kurt knows. The point where Blaine can’t improve anymore. The point where Blaine’s brain can’t be fixed. He can make progress, improve in little ways every day, but his brain is still damaged. Nothing, no amount of support and love and care, can change that. Or so the doctors, with their stupid clipboards and charts and pamphlets, say. Kurt thinks differently.  
  
Kurt pulls Blaine to his feet, holding him tightly as he steadies himself, offering Kurt a quick smile when he finds his balance.  
  
“Walker or me?” Kurt asks. Blaine’s eyes flicker between the two choices, biting his lip. Sometimes Blaine likes the independence, to be able to do things on his own, proving to Kurt, to himself, that he  _can_. And sometimes Blaine just wants Kurt to support him, catch him if he falls.  
  
“You,” Blaine responds after a moment and Kurt shifts around so one arm is wrapped securely around Blaine’s waist and the other has a firm grip on his elbow. Blaine leans on Kurt as he guides them into the kitchen, each step slow and cautious. He reaches for the counter when they approach it and Kurt moves beside Blaine, keeping a steadying hand on his back.  
  
“Walk me through it,” Kurt says, voice soft and encouraging as he silently hopes today is the day. The day Blaine gets it right. Blaine looks at the coffee maker, eyes wary and face nervous.  
  
“What’s first?”  
  
Blaine is silent for a moment and Kurt knows he’s processing everything, brain struggling to put all the steps in the right order. To make sense.  
  
“Coffee,” Blaine says and Kurt studies Blaine’s profile, face scrunched in thought.  
  
“What about the coffee?” Kurt prompts. Blaine glances around the counter.  
  
“Grind it?” He looks at Kurt questioningly and Kurt smiles.  
  
“Good.” Kurt gets the coffee and pours the beans into the grinder, setting it in front of Blaine. He steps behind Blaine, letting his body keep Blaine steady as he lets go of the counter to grab the grinder. Kurt places his hands on top of Blaine’s as he presses the grinder on. It’s unnecessary, but Kurt’s become so used to helping Blaine with everything, steadying him and supporting him, that it’s almost second nature.  
  
“What next?” Kurt asks when the beans are satisfactorily ground. Blaine thinks.  
  
“Put them in? In the coffee maker?” Blaine responds, sounding unsure, looking at Kurt for approval.  
  
Kurt gives his head a slight shake. “What’s before that?”  
  
Blaine frowns, glaring back at the coffee maker and Kurt can almost hear the gears in his brain turning, struggling to figure out what he’s forgetting.  
  
“The water?” He looks desperately at Kurt, eyes begging for him to be right. Kurt feels his heart sinking.  
  
“It starts with an  _f_ ,” Kurt tries to help and Blaine looks back at the coffee maker, eyes intense, like if he stares at it hard enough it will tell him the right answer. This is good for him, Kurt has to remind himself. His therapist said he needs to do as many tasks on his own as he can, but sometimes it’s hard. Blaine has trouble remembering things, putting things in order, problem solving. All the information is there, it’s just like it’s been jumbled, a puzzle that they’re slowly working on putting back in order. Kurt can see Blaine improving, he can do simple tasks on the computer without much problem, but times like this, when he can see Blaine getting frustrated, working himself up, he just wants to help him, but he knows he can’t. Blaine needs to do this for himself.  
  
“I don’t know,” Blaine says quietly after a few moments of silence. The shame and frustration in his voice breaks Kurt’s heart. Blaine is well aware that he should know how to do something as simple as making coffee, and Kurt knows how much it irritates him that he just  _can’t_. He described it once like a light switch; the information comes easily, he knows what to do, to say, to write, and then  _off_. His mind goes blank and he’s left in the dark, with no idea what to do or where to go next.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kurt tries to sound reassuring, thumb rubbing Blaine’s back encouragingly. He pulls the desired objects from the cupboard and sets them on the counter.  
  
“Filters,” Blaine says, voice a whisper. His knuckles turn white against the countertop and he pulls away from Kurt’s hand. Kurt knows what’s happening. Blaine’s getting frustrated and he deals with it in the only way he knows how. He closes off and lashes out.  
  
“What do we do with them?” Kurt asks, hoping for Blaine to get back on track, but he knows he won’t. It’s a cycle. Blaine gets worked up, emotions clouding his thoughts, which only makes him more worked up. And it continues.  
  
Blaine just looks at his tensed hands, turning the slightest bit away from Kurt, his body language closed off.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt says hesitantly, trying to draw Blaine’s attention back.  
  
“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine responds, his words sharp and biting. Kurt puts a hand on Blaine’s arm and he pulls away.  
  
“Don’t,” Blaine says and the words pierce into Kurt. He knows Blaine doesn’t really mean it, but it doesn’t hurt any less. Kurt grabs the filters and puts one into the coffee maker and dumps in the ground beans, giving Blaine a  moment to cool down.  
  
He’s filling the carafe with water when he hears it.  
  
His back is turned away from Blaine and the sound is barely audible over the steady stream of water coming from the faucet. A small choked gasp. Kurt slams the handle of the faucet off, water splashing over the side of the carafe as he turns. For a single, panicky moment he thinks Blaine is about to have a seizure. The gasp, the scrunched face, the tense limbs. But then he sees it, the light reflecting off Blaine’s cheeks. Off Blaine’s tears.  
  
The carafe is forgotten on the counter and Kurt takes the small step towards Blaine, reaching out to him.  
  
“Blaine? What’s wrong?” In all this time, in fourteen months, Kurt hasn’t seen Blaine actually cry. There have been a few tears of frustration, of pain after a seizure, or during a migraine, but never like this. Kurt’s stomach flips over in worry.  
  
“Does your head hurt?” Kurt asks when Blaine says nothing. Blaine shakes his head and tries to turn away from Kurt, but this time Kurt won’t let him. He presses a comforting hand to Blaine’s back, his thumb rubbing small circles.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Blaine doesn’t answer for a moment, hands still tightly gripping the counter.  
  
“I…” Kurt can see him take a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I feel so stupid.”  
  
Kurt thinks his heart might stop beating. Blaine stiffens but doesn’t pull away as he moves his hand across Blaine’s back to grip his shoulder.  
  
“You’re  _not_  stupid, Blaine,” Kurt says firmly but reassuring. “Don’t think like that.”  
  
Blaine turns slightly toward him, face pained.  
  
“Then why can’t…” he stops and lets out frustrated noise. “I can’t even think at all.”  
  
Fresh tears spill down Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt steps forwards, pulling Blaine into a hug, arms loose but comforting around Blaine’s back, Blaine arms caught between their bodies, his head falling against Kurt’s shoulder. His shoulders shake as he cries and Kurt lets his cheek press into Blaine’s curls.  
  
“You’re the bravest person I know,” Kurt’s voice is soft but strong. “You’ve come so far Blaine, and you’re  _not_  stupid.”  
  
“I feel like it,” Blaine’s words are muffled against Kurt’s shoulder, his shirt growing damp with Blaine’s tears. Kurt holds Blaine tighter.  
  
“Then you’ll just have to trust me,” Kurt says.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Blaine says after a moment, words slow and calculated. “-m sorry you…have to put up with me.”  
  
Hot tears begin to prick at Kurt’s own eyes.  
  
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here, with you,” Kurt says, Blaine’s hair tickling his lips. Blaine sniffs against him.  
  
“I’ve been…so horrible.” Kurt can hear the shame in his voice.  
  
“You’ve been wonderful,” Kurt says. Blaine stays silent, but Kurt can feel him relax slightly, sinking into his warmth. A few moments pass before Kurt decides to speak again.  
  
 “Every day I think back to that night, and I wish…god...I wish we hadn’t gone out for those stupid gyros, that I hadn’t insisted we take that shortcut back, that I hadn’t… I wish our positions had been switched. It should’ve been me, not you.”  
  
Blaine makes a noise, like he’s going to say something, but Kurt continues before he can.  
  
“You’ve been so much braver than I ever could’ve. I know you don’t see it, but you try so  _hard_  Blaine, and you’ve accomplished so much. I look up to you and every day I only hope I can be half as strong as you are. So don’t ever apologize Blaine, because you are my light. I would be lost without you.”  
  
Kurt presses his lips into Blaine’s hair, ignoring the tears rolling down his own cheeks.  
  
“And I love you.”  
  
They stand like this for a long while, Blaine leaning into Kurt, Kurt’s arms wrapping around Blaine, strong and supportive. Slowly Blaine’s breaths relax, becoming deep and even and Kurt savors  _this_. Holding Blaine close, their hearts beating in time, connecting in a way Kurt doesn’t think would be possible to ever feel with anyone else.  
  
“I love you too,” Blaine says into Kurt’s shoulder, voice thick with emotion and Kurt smiles. He moves his hand to cup Blaine’s chin, lifting his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. When they pull away Blaine’s eyes are still sad, but he manages a small smile. Kurt wipes the lingering tears away with the pad of his thumb.  
  
“Do you want to sit?” Kurt asks, reluctant to ruin the moment but knowing Blaine must be getting tired from standing for so long.  
  
“The coffee?” Blaine looks at the abandoned coffee pot.  
  
“It can wait,” Kurt says but Blaine shakes his head.  
  
“I…I want to.” Blaine looks at Kurt cautiously, like he’s expecting him to say no. Kurt is surprised but nods.  
  
“Alright.” He takes a step back, letting Blaine lead as they finish making the coffee. He can’t deny the warm feeling in his stomach when Blaine suggests scrambled eggs, his demeanor perking up, face excited as the steps come more easily. They’re getting there. Kurt knows sometimes Blaine only focuses on the big picture, how much he still can’t do, how hard things still are for him, but Kurt knows it’s the little things that count. He’s learned to see that over the past year. Using the computer, making breakfast, walking without stopping every few steps, they’re all things the doctors told him he’d never do again. Kurt just wishes Blaine could see it, how much he’s accomplished, how far he’s come. How proud Kurt is of him.  
  
Kurt steps behind Blaine, arms sliding under Blaine’s to wrap around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder and Kurt wants to cry for how much he’s missed  _this_. Blaine being Blaine and everything beginning to have a semblance of normal.  
  
“Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you cook?” Kurt says with a smile and Blaine laughs.  
  
“And I thought I was the one with…brain damage.”  
  
Kurt shushes him. “I’m serious.” He kisses the soft spot under Blaine’s ear. “You’re amazing.”  
  
Blaine smiles and leans back into Kurt and that’s all Kurt needs. Right now, in this moment, they’re happy and that’s the only thing that matters.  
  
They’re getting there.


	7. A Father's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s always worried; Kurt and Blaine, they’ve always been so in love that they sometimes forget the world is a cruel place, that for some people, being in love isn’t enough. He hears about hate crimes on the news, sad stories recited by loved ones on the radio, and yet, he never thought it could actually happen. Not to them.

_April 23 rd, 2018_  
   
Burt wakes up to a phone call. The ring is shrill, piercing, and Burt grumbles in annoyance, hands fumbling clumsily on the bedside table. He squints at the tiny screen, the light blinding. It’s Kurt, and it’s one in the morning. Burt sits up, worry gripping his chest as he flips the phone open, knowing Kurt would only call this late in an emergency.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
 “Dad.” Kurt’s voice is small, choked, and Burt can hear the shuddering breaths of sobs.   
  
“Kurt? What’s going on?”  
  
 A shaky breath comes through the line and Burt can tell Kurt’s trying to calm himself, trying to speak.  
  
“Kurt, you need to talk to me. Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt’s voice is thin and wavering. “Just a br-broken arm and stitches…but…” His voice is cut by a sob and panic is tight in Burt’s chest. Beside him Carole stirs, frowning up at Burt.  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“The hospital,” Kurt says between sobs. Burt scrubs the last of sleep from his eyes.  
  
“Kurt, you need to tell me what happened. Can you do that?” He speaks slow and calm, hoping his voice will reassure Kurt, even if just enough for him to talk. The metallic sound of a doctor being paged sounds in the background and Kurt is struggling to calm his crying. Carole puts a hand on his arm, her face concerned. Burt catches her eyes and just  _hopes_  for whatever Kurt’s about to say. That everything is okay. He knows it’s not.  
  
“Blaine and I…” his voice breaks with a choked whimper. “We went out for gyros. It…it was dark and I wanted to take a short cut…there were these guys and…”  
  
“Deep breaths, Kurt,” Burt instructs as Kurt breaks down again.  
  
“They…god, they said  _things_  and I yelled at them and they grabbed me and Blaine pushed them and they…god…” Kurt’s words are coming quickly now, like he’s broken the dam and everything is coming out all at once. “Dad, they…they had a pipe and they just…they just… they beat him and I couldn’t do anything and I thought he was dead. I… god… I thought he was dead.”  
  
Burt feels like all the breath has been stolen from his lungs.  
  
“Is he…” he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.  
  
“He’s alive. For now,” Kurt’s voice sounds almost flat now, and it scares Burt worse than the panicked sobs. “His skull… they said it was fractured inwards and they did surgery…but there were bone shards and they’ll have to do another surgery soon but now they’re trying to keep the swelling down and…dad, they won’t let me see him and they don’t know…they don’t know if he’ll make it.”  
  
Burt is silent for a minute, brain struggling to process what Kurt just said. It seems impossible. He’s always worried; Kurt and Blaine, they’ve always been so in  _love_  that they sometimes forget the world is a cruel place, that for some people, being in love isn’t enough. He hears about hate crimes on the news, sad stories recited by loved ones on the radio, and yet, he never thought it could  _actually_  happen. Not to them. And just like that it hits him, how close he was to losing Kurt tonight. And Blaine…Burt loves him as a son and his chest physically aches with the thought of what’s happened. What’s still happening.  
  
“They…they won’t let you see him?” The words find their way from Burt’s lips without him realizing it.  
  
“No,” Kurt says, voice a mix of anger and distress. “It’s not…a  _gay_  thing. They have to…keep his head open until the swelling goes down.”  
  
Kurt is calmer, but his voice still uneven and choppy and Burt can tell how hard it is for him to say this. A woman’s voice interrupts them and there’s a rustling noise through the phone and Kurt sniffles and thanks whoever it is.  
  
“The nurse,” Kurt explains with a mumble. “She brought me coffee.”  
  
Burt is finding himself more and more unnerved by the increasing flatness of Kurt’s voice.  
  
“Do they know what his…chances are?” Burt asks softly. He can hear Kurt shifting.  
  
“If they can stop the…the bleeding and get the swelling down he might make it,” Kurt’s breaths start coming faster again, his voice wavering. “But they said…there’s so much  _trauma_ ,” the word comes out pained, “even if he does wake up he… _god_ , he’ll probably have brain damage.”  
  
And the floodgates are open again, Kurt’s voice breaking with the last word and Burt wishes he was there right now. That he could hold Kurt while he cries.  
  
“It’s all my fault,” Kurt stutters. “It was my  _stupid_  idea to take that shortcut. Blaine…he didn’t want to but I did and then those…guys and god, I yelled at them and I should’ve just ignored it and now Blaine might  _die_ and it’s all my fault…”  
  
“Kurt, hey,” Burt interrupts as Kurt dissolves into tears. “Listen to me. This is  _not_ your fault. It’s no one’s fault except for the ones who did this. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt says weakly but Burt knows he’s not sincere.  
  
“I’ll be out as soon as I can tomorrow alright?”  
  
“Thank you,” Kurt’s words come out as a whimper and if Burt thinks it isn’t possible for his heart to break anymore he is _wrong_. He wants to tell Kurt everything is going to be alright, that Blaine will be fine, but he can’t. The words stop in his throat. Everything is not fine and if there’s one thing Burt knows for certain, it’s that things can always get worse.  
  
“And Kurt, it’s not your fault. Promise me you won’t think that anymore. Blaine needs you there for him, ok? Not wrapped up in guilt. Promise me.”  
  
There’s silence for a moment, only Kurt’s hitching breaths coming through the phone.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
He can hear rustling and Kurt’s voice comes out in a frantic rush.  
  
“Dad, Blaine’s doctor is here. I have to go.”  
  
“Alright, call me anytime okay?” Burt says but the call is already disconnected. He lowers the phone into his lap, staring at it without really seeing. Carole’s hand on his arm tightens and Burt knows she’s worried but he can’t bring himself to speak just yet.  
  
“Burt?” She asks after a moment and Burt draws his eyes up to hers, wondering how it’s possible for life to change so much in five minutes.  
  
“I need to go to New York.”  
   
 

  
_October 19 th, 2018_  
   
The door flies open the moment he knocks and he takes a step back as Kurt’s body collides with his, arms wrapping him in a tight hug.  
  
“Glad to see you too, bud,” Burt chuckles, patting Kurt’s back. Kurt releases him a moment later, eyes misting but a smile on his lips. He looks happy, Burt is pleased to see.  
  
“Sorry,” Kurt says sheepishly. “I just missed you.”  
  
Burt feels guilt wash through him; he hasn’t been able to make it back to New York since Blaine first woke up, nearly five months ago. Business has picked up, and even with Finn helping out when he can, he hasn’t managed to get away until now.  
  
“It’s alright,” Kurt says with a shake of his head, as though he knows what Burt’s thinking. “I understand…business.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Besides, it’s been pretty busy around here too.”  
  
Burt knows. He talks to Kurt every week at least, and he knows between Kurt’s work and Blaine’s appointments, he’s had barely a minute of free time.  
  
“I’ve gathered,” Burt says as Kurt motions for him to step inside. He looks around, admiring Kurt’s house for the first time. “Nice place you’ve got here.”  
  
Kurt nods excitedly. “Blaine’s dad helped fix it up. He built the ramp and made it completely handicap accessible. Unfortunately, he’s colorblind, so I had to do some extensive repainting, but now it feels like…well, home.”  
  
Burt smiles. It’s been a long time since he’s heard Kurt sound so content. Like things are actually starting to work out. Kurt takes his jacket in the entryway and Burt lets his bag drop to the ground, ignoring Kurt’s pointed frown.  
  
“Carole and Finn wanted to come, but they couldn’t get the time off,” Burt explains as Kurt hangs the jacket neatly in the hall closet.  
  
“It’s probably better,” Kurt says, turning around, and for the first time Burt sees a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Blaine’s not really comfortable with crowds yet.”  
  
Burt nods in understanding and something tightens inside him. He hasn’t seen Blaine since he was in the hospital, and while he receives regular detailed reports from Kurt, he has to admit he’s a bit nervous.  
  
“So…” Kurt claps his hands against his legs. “Ready for the grand tour?”  
  
“Give me your worst,” Burt smiles. Kurt leads him from the small entryway into a simple, but fashionable, living room. The walls are a deep cream color, the windows draped with dark green curtains, adorned with small jewels. It all looks very Kurt, but has a surprisingly homey feel to it. Burt barely notices, his attention drawn to the figure on the couch. Blaine is bundled up in a sweatshirt, lap buried under a pile of blankets, a bright red foam ball gripped between his hands. His hair, while still shorter than he used to keep it, has finally been allowed to grow back and Burt can barely make out the scars that wind across his scalp. He’s looking up at them, mouth slightly parted and eyes wide. Burt compares him to his memories of the boy he saw the last time he was here. His shoulders are held higher, his face brighter, there’s understanding and _awareness_  in his eyes, and Burt is struck with how much he’s changed.  
  
“Dad’s here,” Kurt practically sings and the corner of Blaine’s mouth lifts in a smile.  
  
“Hey bud, it’s good to see you,” Burt says to Blaine, smiling back at him. Blaine lifts a finger and raises his hand to press against his chest.  
  
“He’s happy you’re here,” Kurt says, interpreting whatever Blaine just did, and Burt finds himself slightly awed at how the two just  _know_ each other, understand each other, even without words.  
  
“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” Kurt says, motioning to where Blaine’s currently sitting. “We don’t have an extra bed, but you can keep your stuff in my study.”  
  
Kurt shows him the study, their bedroom, the bathroom (and Burt admires how much work has gone into making everything accessible to Blaine), and lastly the kitchen.  
  
“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten,” Kurt says. “I was going to make pasta, if that’s alright. I know it’s not the healthiest but it’s easier for Blaine and I normally just eat what he eats…”  
  
Kurt trails off, for the first time sounding unsure and Burt realizes that Kurt is  _nervous_. He’s nervous of Burt seeing Blaine, seeing their lifestyle, seeing how different things are now.  
  
“Pasta’s fine,” Burt assures and Kurt visibly relaxes.  
  
“Alright, um…” Kurt looks around. Burt knows Kurt, knows he’s planned this moment to a T, but now that Burt’s actually here, he’s floundering. They have their life, their schedule, their way of dealing with everything, and now an outsider is here and it’s a stark reminder that what they have isn’t normal. And it throws Kurt off.  
  
“You can put your stuff in the study and make yourself at home,” Kurt says when he gathers himself. “I’ll get Blaine and start dinner… He likes to help.” He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, as he needs justification.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Burt says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile and he lets Kurt direct him from the kitchen, grabbing his bag from the entryway and heading to the study. He shuts the door with a click and finally just breathes.  
  
A hand scrubs across his face and he lowers himself into Kurt’s overly-soft desk chair. His eyes are drawn to a framed picture on the desk, arranged carefully next to the computer. Burt doesn’t recognize it, but it’s obviously from  _before_. Kurt’s face pressed close to Blaine’s, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, and snowflakes are white dots in the dark sky, their noses red from the cold, but the smiles on both of their faces are bright and infectious. Like two boys in love. Taped to the picture is an old scrap of paper, wrinkled at the corners, the penciled writing slightly smudged.  _Had to run early. Good luck at work, don’t make anyone wear anything ugly ;) Don’t forget, date night tonight. Love xoxo_.  
  
Kurt had told him once, with an exasperated sigh, how Blaine always left notes on his pillow if he was the first to leave in the morning, though Burt knew how much Kurt actually loved it. He wonders if this was the last note Blaine left, what Kurt saw the morning before  _that night,_ what he came home to after, still resting on Blaine’s pillow. Suddenly, everything seems so fragile. Kurt’s happiness, the house, Blaine. Like it’s made of glass, so close to shattering, but somehow, miraculously, standing steady.  
  
Burt takes a deep breath and stands, leaving the study and making his way back to the kitchen. He stops in the entrance, watching the scene before him. Kurt’s filling up a large pot, Blaine beside him in his wheelchair, fingers working to open a box of pasta, face creased in concentration. Kurt sets the pot on the stove, fiddling with the heat, and turns back to Blaine, gently helping him to pry open the top, voice soft with words of encouragement.  
  
When Kurt stands straight to dump the pasta in the pot he spots Burt and smiles.  
  
“Need any help?” Burt asks.  
  
“We got it,” Kurt says with a shake of his head and Burt raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Just cause I’m your old man doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”  
  
“I distinctly remember a few ruined dinners that would indicate otherwise,” Kurt says pointedly. “But you can chop the vegetables.”  
Burt turns to the pile of broccoli stacked on the counter.  
  
“Small pieces please,” Kurt instructs, handing over knife and Burt nods. And dinner is made; Kurt attending to the pasta, helping Blaine to mash some bananas, and steaming the broccoli Burt so carefully sliced.  
  
“Voila!” Kurt says when they’re seated at the table, setting the plates in their designated spots. “Rigatoni alfredo, steamed broccoli, and mashed bananas. A dinner to impress the greatest of chefs.”  
  
Burt chuckles. “Looks good to me, kid.”  
  
Kurt smiles triumphantly, considerably more at ease now that they have something to do. He chats excitedly, telling Burt about work, about Rachel, the crazy neighbors, before asking about Carole and Finn. Burt responds, but his heart isn’t really in the conversation. He’s watching Kurt, the way he wraps his hand around Blaine’s to pick up his spoon, making sure Blaine gets his bite before taking his own. The way Blaine can’t really chew very well, and Kurt makes sure everything is thoroughly mashed before feeding it to him. When Blaine coughs, Kurt stops what he’s doing and rubs his back and the whole moment is so tender that Burt feels emotions rising in him that he didn’t know existed. Watching Kurt like this, taking care of Blaine like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing, Burt wonders how it’s possible he managed to raise Kurt to be such a truly amazing person.  
  
After dinner Burt helps Kurt clean up, despite Kurt’s protests, and Blaine watches their bickering from the table, with a look that resembles amusement. When Burt insists on washing the dishes Kurt sets a pile of brightly colored marbles and matching cups in front of Blaine. Burt watches with interest as Blaine slowly sorts them, fingers fumbling to grip each marble, arms moving to drop them in the appropriately colored cup. Kurt’s eyes shine each time Blaine gets it, and when he doesn’t Kurt just picks up the dropped marble, encouraging Blaine to try again, not even the slightest disappointment in his voice.  
  
By the time everything is cleaned up and put away Blaine is yawning, eyes blinking tiredly and Kurt excuses them to the bathroom. Burt plops down on the couch, glancing around the room as he waits. He can hear Kurt’s voice, muffled through the walls, and the occasional lower pitched grunts that must be Blaine. Kurt comes out briefly, searching around the living room until he finds what looks like a cloth belt, for transferring he says, before disappearing again. And Burt realizes, in the time he’s been here, he has yet to see Kurt do something for himself, something that isn’t directly related to Blaine.  
  
Burt hears from Kurt often, has heard about every improvement Blaine’s made, every setback he’s had. He’s heard how proud Kurt is of Blaine, how sad he gets when Blaine is upset. But it’s not until now, when he’s physically  _here_ , that he understands truly how much Kurt does for Blaine. Burt has seen it now, how Kurt takes care of Blaine, his touch tender and loving, his words gentle and encouraging. He knows taking care of someone isn’t easy. He experienced it with Lizzie near the end of her cancer, and lord knows it was  _hard_ , though he knows the situations aren’t really comparable. Kurt helps Blaine with  _everything_ ; eating, dressing, using the bathroom, bathing, and he does it all at a pace that Blaine can manage, never getting angry or annoyed, even when Blaine does. He’s never once complained, never sought any praise or admiration for his efforts, because for Kurt, it’s  _only_  about Blaine.  
  
A stack of papers on the edge of the coffee table draws Burt’s attention and he picks them up. They crinkle, stiff with glue, as Burt flips through them. On every page is Kurt’s name, written in childish writing. Some are decorated, covered in glitter, or paint, and some are plain, only Kurt’s name markered on the page.  
  
“I try to get him to write other things,” Kurt says and Burt jumps. He hadn’t heard him come in. “But he doesn’t want to. Only my name.”  
  
Kurt sits next to Burt gracefully, taking the stack from his hands and flipping through until he pulls one out. It’s the only one with something different on the page, Blaine’s name scribbled on top and Kurt’s on the bottom, a neatly drawn heart in the middle.  
  
“Except this one. Janessa finally convinced him, but only if he could write both our names. She drew the heart,” Kurt explains, a smile playing at his lips. Burt admires the writing, sees the pride in Kurt’s face, and doesn’t know what to say.  
  
“Blaine’s sleeping,” Kurt says after a moment. “He had physical therapy today and that always makes him tired.”  
Kurt’s arm presses against Burt and he wants nothing more than to pull Kurt onto his lap like he did when he was a kid, to hold him and make everything bad go away.  
  
“How are you doing, kid?” Burt asks instead, eyes searching Kurt’s face with concern.  
  
“Good,” Kurt responds immediately. “Blaine’s motor skills are improving and he has another swallow study next week. He can even say some letters of the alphabet now and they think…”  
  
“Kurt,” Burt cuts him off. “I meant how are  _you_  doing.”  
  
Kurt blinks, face confused. “What?”  
  
“I see what you do, Kurt. You take care of Blaine all day, and when you’re not helping him, you’re at work. You don’t take any time for yourself. I’m just worried about you.”  
  
Burt can feel Kurt tensing, drawing up, back straight and face cold.  
  
“You’re worried about  _me_? Blaine, my  _fiancé,_ is so brain damaged he can’t even  _talk_  anymore and you want me to go skipping off for some  _me_   _time_?”  
  
Burt takes a deep breath. He should have known this was coming.  
  
“Kurt, what happened to Blaine was awful, and every day I wish I could kill the ones who did this and make Blaine better. But I know Blaine’s so lucky to have you, Kurt. Not many could, or would, do what you’re doing. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known, but Blaine wasn’t the only hurt by this. And I worry about you.”  
  
Kurt is quiet, eyes downcast but face thoughtful.  
  
“I don’t know how much you remember of this, because you were so young, but when your mom had cancer…that was hard. She slowly lost all ability to do anything, and I remember taking care of her, before she was in the hospital. I was so focused on her, and on you, that I forgot myself, and Kurt, it was exhausting. And I know it’s different, but I don’t want it to be like that for you. I don’t want you to wear yourself out, and I know Blaine doesn’t either.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes are misted as he looks up at Burt, the edges rimmed with red.  
  
“It’s just not fair,” Kurt’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks. “It’s not fair this happened to Blaine. Every time I look at him I think of how he used to be and it’s just so  _hard_ …I can’t do things knowing Blaine can’t do them anymore.”  
  
“It’s  _not_  fair,” Burt agrees, wrapping an arm around Kurt. “But you two have worked so hard at not letting it get you down and I’m so proud of you for that, Kurt . Just promise me you’ll take some time for yourself. You don’t even have to leave, you can give yourself one of your…I dunno, manicures or sing a song or something. I just don’t want you to get burned out. I worry about you, kid.”  
  
Kurt rests his head against Burt’s shoulder, sniffling softly.  
  
“Can I give Blaine a manicure too?” Burt chuckles.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair and Kurt smiles.

 

_February 15 th, 2019_  
   
“Hello?” Burt answers with a sigh. He just sat down with a beer Kurt and Carole will never know about, flipping on the sports channel, ready to relax after a busy day at work.  
  
“Hey,” Kurt sounds exhausted, his voice no more than a breathy whisper.  
  
“Hey Kurt, what’s up?” Burt mutes the TV, and takes a swig of his beer. Kurt is silent for a moment.  
  
“I just need someone to talk to.”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Burt can’t help the worry growing in him. Kurt rarely admits to needing help, and it’s been awhile since he’s heard Kurt sound like this.  
  
“Not really,” Kurt admits. “Blaine has a migraine.”  
  
“I don’t know much about migraines bud,” Burt says though he knows that’s not really what Kurt wants.  
  
“I know, I just…” Kurt’s silent as he gathers his thoughts. “He’s been having them a lot lately.”  
  
“Have you taken him to the doctor?” Burt asks, not exactly sure what Kurt’s looking for, but he expects Kurt doesn’t really know either.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt answers. “They say it has to do with the seasons changing. They gave him meds but they don’t really help.”  
  
Burt is silent, giving Kurt the chance to say what he needs.  
  
“It’s just…it makes him so sick and there’s nothing I can do,” Kurt says finally and Burt understands. Kurt’s always been able to help Blaine with everything, and now he’s found something he can’t.  
  
“You’re doing all you can, Kurt,” Burt tries to reassure, even though he knows Kurt won’t really listen. “Blaine knows that.”  
  
“I know,” Kurt relents with a sigh. “It’s just really hard. To see him in pain like this and not be able to do anything.”  
  
Burt thinks about how much Kurt takes after his mother. Lizzie never could sit still if someone was sick. She would go straight into mothering mode, wanting to do everything, anything, to make it better. For Kurt, not being able to help, feeling useless, that’s the hardest part.  
  
“You are doing something, Kurt,” Burt says, hoping he sounds as earnest as he feels. “Just by being there for him when he needs you, you’re doing as much as you can.”  
  
“Yeah…” Kurt says, sounding like he doesn’t entirely believe Burt, but unable to come up with anything else to refute.  
  
“Everything else alright?” Burt asks.  
  
“Yeah, Blaine and I had a romantic candlelit dinner last night. He wrote me a poem. It didn’t really rhyme but I blame Olivia for that.” Burt can hear the smile on Kurt’s face.  
  
“That’s great, Kurt,” Burt says, and he means it.  
  
“Dad?” Burt’s heart aches for how young Kurt sounds with that word.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thanks,” Kurt pauses. “Thanks for always picking up when I call.”  
  
Kurt sounds so earnest and Burt’s beginning to think Kurt has a gift for tapping into his emotional side, and unleashing so many damn feelings.  
  
“Of course, bud. I’m always here for you.”  
  
“I should…go check on Blaine,” Kurt’s words are soft and Burt knows he’s fighting back tears. Burt nods even though Kurt can’t see him.  
  
“Go ahead. It was nice hearing from you, Kurt.”  
  
“You too, dad.” And Kurt hangs up.  
  
Burt goes back to the game, somehow feeling lighter and heavier at the same time.  
   
 

  
_September 23 rd, 2019_  
   
Burt picks up his phone on the second ring.  
  
“Kurt? What’s wrong?” Kurt never calls in the middle of a work day and Burt’s mind immediately runs through the worst possible scenarios.  
  
“Nothing…” Kurt says but he sounds hesitant and Burt knows he’s lying.  
  
“So there’s no reason you’re calling me at one pm on a Tuesday afternoon?”  
  
“That was redundant dad,” Kurt says accusingly.  
  
“Whatever Kurt, just tell me what’s up,” Burt says even as he feels the tension in his chest lighten slightly. Kurt wouldn’t joke if something was seriously wrong. An exasperated sigh crackles through the phone.  
  
“It’s Blaine’s first day alone,” Kurt explains and Burt can just picture him, sitting at work, head in his hands, unable to think about anything except Blaine.  
  
“Uh huh,” Burt says as he wipes the grease from his hands and passes the wrench to his employee to finish. “And why are you calling me?”  
  
“Because if I call Blaine one more time I don’t think he’ll ever talk to me again.”  
  
And Burt understands. Blaine is on his own for the  _first_  time since he was hurt and Burt knows Kurt is probably going sick with worry.  
  
“I can’t concentrate because all I can think about is what if Blaine falls, or has a seizure, or the house sets on fire, or the mafia comes and I know it’s ridiculous and will never happen but I can’t help it and I get so worried and…”  
  
“Kurt,” Burt cuts him off before he can work himself up more. “Blaine will be fine. He can call you if anything happens.”  
  
“I gave him a cell phone and a pager and a panic button,” Kurt admits sheepishly and Burt gives an amused sigh.  
  
“Blaine’s going to be able to do more stuff on his own now, Kurt. You’re going to have to get used to it at some point.”  
  
“I know,” Kurt admits heavily. “It’s just hard not to worry, thinking about him all by himself.”  
  
“Believe me bud, I know. I still remember the first time I left you home alone. I was just going to the store, but I couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong and I barely made it twenty minutes before coming back. Of course, by then you had drawn a palace on your wall with pink crayons, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that with Blaine.”  
  
Kurt laughs, the sound infectious, and Burt can’t help but smile.  
  
“So this is a big step for Blaine then,” Burt says. He knows Kurt will calm down if he talks it over, lets everything out. Kurt doesn’t have many people to talk to, and talking to Blaine only seems to increase his worry.  
  
“Yeah, huge. They said if he keeps doing so well he might be able to go back to work part-time this spring. He’s doing so well, dad. I wish you could come visit.” The happiness in Kurt’s voice is practically palpable, even through the phone.  
  
“That’s great Kurt. I’ll come out as soon as I can. Carole wants to come too, you guys are pretty much all she talks about.” Burt’s not even lying. Carole calls Kurt almost as often as Kurt calls home, and he knows she’s anxious to see them again. To see Blaine’s progress with her own eyes. Burt has made it out once since last Christmas, but Carole had to work, and it’s hard to get so much time off.  
  
“We’d like that,” Kurt says, sounding considerably more at ease than he did in the beginning of the conversation.  
  
“Now go get some work done and try not to worry about Blaine, alright?”  Burt instructs and Kurt chuckles. They both know that’s not going to happen, but this time it’s ok.  
  
“I love you dad,” Kurt says and Burt smiles.  
  
“Love you too, Kurt.”  
 

  
   
 _October 12 th, 2019 _  
   
Blaine’s leg bounces nervously as Burt hands him the tea. Steam curls intricately into the air and Blaine’s eyes fix on it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.  
  
“Careful, it’s hot,” Burt says needlessly and Blaine sets the cup down on the kitchen table as if it had grown scalding with Burt’s words. Burt frowns. Blaine’s not normally this nervous, or he hadn’t been until Carole had dragged Kurt off for a much needed (according to Kurt) shopping trip. No one had been surprised by Burt’s refusal, but eyebrows were raised when Blaine had also insisted on staying behind. Blaine claimed he didn’t feel up to shopping and no one had questioned it, though Burt is beginning to wonder if there is something else going on.  
  
“Do you want me to call Kurt?” Burt asks and Blaine jumps, as if surprised Burt is still there.  
  
“What? No,” Blaine says quickly.  
  
“You sure? You seem kind of…jittery.” Blaine drops his gaze and wraps his fingers around his cup, staring at it intently.  
  
“Actually…I wanted to talk. To you,” Blaine practically mumbles and Burt is honestly surprised, though it does explain why Blaine insisted on staying home. Burt sits across the table from Blaine, taking a sip of his own tea and wincing as it scalds his tongue.  
  
“Oh? What about?” Burt tries to keep his voice steady and reassuring.  
  
“Um..” Blaine shifts nervously. “About Kurt.”  
  
Burt nods and can’t help but feel like he’s treading new waters. He’s talked to Kurt about Blaine more times than he can count, but he hasn’t really  _talked_  to Blaine. Not without Kurt there. Not since his injury.  
  
“Alright, shoot,” Burt says, sitting back in his chair, resting his palms flat on the table, giving Blaine the chance to speak.  
  
“Do you…” Blaine pauses, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “I mean, does Kurt… I just…”  
  
He lets out a huff of frustration.  
  
“Do you think he still wants to…marry me?” Blaine’s eyes lift with his words and he looks so lost that it breaks Burt’s heart. And it dawns on him that Kurt is the only one Blaine has to talk to. The only support he has, now that he stays home on his own half the week. And Burt knows he wouldn’t want to talk to Kurt  _about_  Kurt.  
  
“Why would you think he doesn’t?” Burt asks gently, trying to understand Blaine’s feelings.  
  
Blaine shrugs and looks back at his hands.  
  
“Blaine,” Burt says, still soft but commanding enough that Blaine lifts his eyes guiltily. “Conversations don’t really work unless both people talk.”  
  
Blaine bites his lip and is silent for another moment but Burt can see he’s organizing his thoughts, figuring out what to say. Kurt once explained to him that it’s like Blaine draws up an outline in his head of what he wants to say, making mental bullet points to keep from getting lost in the middle of their conversation.  
  
“I mean…why would he want to marry someone he has to…to take care of?” Blaine asks, words slow and calculated, eyebrows slanting to give him that heartbreakingly  _lost_  look again. “Someone who can’t ta-” he pauses, “take care of  _him_ …if he needs.”  
  
“Blaine, I know as a fact that Kurt wants nothing more than to marry you, whether you need some extra help or not. And I don’t think you understand how much you  _do_  help Kurt, just by being here for him.”  
  
Blaine’s blinks rapidly and Burt wants nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and make all his doubts go away.  
  
“But what if I can’t…can’t reciprocate,” his voice lowers until Burt has to strain to hear the last word, “sexually?”  
  
Blaine’s eyes are glued to the table and his cheeks are growing a deep shade of red and Burt can’t imagine how embarrassing this must feel for him, that the only person he has to turn to for this is his fiancé’s  _father_.  
  
“Have you guys…?” Burt lets the question trail off, trying to find the best way to word it but thankfully Blaine knows what he’s trying to say and he shakes his head, face absolutely burning.  
  
“N-not since…” Blaine says but his words catch in his throat and Burt’s afraid Blaine might start to cry out of sheer humiliation.  
  
“Have you tried talking this out with Kurt?” Burt asks gently, not exactly sure what to say but knowing that Blaine trusts him right now. That Blaine  _needs_  to talk about this. Blaine shakes his head.  
  
“Well Blaine, I can promise you Kurt doesn’t care if you can reciprocate or not. That’s not going to affect him wanting to marry you. But if you’re really worried about it, try talking to him. Kurt’s probably just as nervous to bring this up with you as you are with him.”  
  
Blaine shifts in his chair but doesn’t say anything.  
  
“Or if you’re really uncomfortable with that maybe you can find a support group or something? Talk to other people who have gone through the same thing. Lizzie…Kurt’s mom, she did that when she was diagnosed with cancer.”  
  
For the first time since the conversation started Blaine actually shows some interest in what Burt’s saying, his eyes lifting from the table.  
  
“You think I could?” He sounds so innocently hopeful, like Burt has just provided him the solution to all his problems on a gold platter with sprinkles on top and Burt smiles.  
  
“Of course, Blaine. There’s always people who want to help you. And if you have any trouble, you can always come to me or Carole and we’ll help you out as much as we can.”  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine says eyes meeting Burt’s earnestly. Burt smiles.  
  
“We’re always here for you, Blaine,” Burt says and Blaine looks more relaxed, hands wrapping around his mug as he lifts it and takes a cautious sip.  
  
“Kurt’s proud of you, Blaine. He cares about you more than himself most of the time, and wants to spend the rest of his life with you. You guys don’t have to rush to get married. I know Kurt doesn’t mind waiting until you’re ready, so don’t get worried and don’t feel pressured alright?”  
  
Blaine nods, eyes shining but face more at ease.  
  
“How’s everything else?” Burt asks, taking a gulp of tea and wishing he had added more sugar. Blaine shrugs.  
  
“Fine,” Blaine says and Burt feels his lips turn up into a sad smile. He knows things aren’t perfect, they still struggle, but they both try so hard and things are getting better. So much better. Burt considers it an accomplishment that Blaine feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with him and he doesn’t want to push him.  
  
“Come on,” Burt says, standing. “There’s a game on and it’s been way too long since we watched one together.”  
  
Blaine’s face lights up at the suggestion, whether from actual excitement or he’s just glad to be done with the conversation Burt doesn’t know, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. Blaine’s hands reach out, strong fingers wrapping around the handles of his walker and he pushes himself to his feet, pausing to look back at his tea.  
  
“I got it,” Burt assures and Blaine looks at Burt with such gratitude that Burt’s pretty sure both boys have some secret talent of melting his heart into a big puddle of emotions. Blaine shuffles into the living room, lowering himself onto the couch and Burt sets his tea on the coffee table before collapsing into the armchair and flipping through the channels until he finds the game. Blaine doesn’t say anything, but he watches intently, only breaking his gaze to sip his tea and the silence is comfortable.  
  
Burt can see Blaine slowly relax as the game goes on, the slightest smile curling his lips and he looks so  _content_  and Burt knows nothing really has changed. Despite everything, Blaine is still Blaine and Kurt is still Kurt, and nothing could ever pull them apart.


	8. Resolution, Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to have sex with you but you treat me like some delicate flower, like you’re afraid to crush me, and I want to show you. I want to show you what I want, Kurt, but I don’t know how and I need help, ok? And I didn’t want to tell you because it’s something I need to do, for me…”

_November 5 th, 2019_  
   
The shower is too hot, turning his skin a gentle pink, the steam heavy in his lungs. Blaine likes it this way. He rarely ever feels warm, an imbalance in his temperature regulating system,  or something like that. Blaine doesn’t really know. He’s sure Kurt has it memorized. He knows Kurt spends hours learning, researching everything the doctor tells them. He knows all the symptoms and warning signs for everything. He knows exactly what to do if something, anything, goes wrong.  
  
Maybe that’s why Blaine likes showering when Kurt’s at work. It gives him some independence, something he knows he can do on his own. Kurt worries. He always has. It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes it can be a little…much. Blaine can hardly do something without Kurt there, hovering over him, making sure he doesn’t screw up or hurt himself. Mostly Blaine doesn’t mind, he knows he needs help with things, he’s accepted he probably always will, but there are some things he needs to do for himself. By himself.  
  
The shower chair is hard and uncomfortable (Kurt had made him pinkie promise  _and_ cross his heart and hope to die that he won’t try to stand in the shower by himself) but Blaine barely notices. The water pours from the spout, running in rivulets down his body and he can feel his muscles loosen, the knots in his shoulder slowly relax, the nearly-constant ache in his head dissipating. He feels  _good_ , almost normal even. It’s refreshing and invigorating and Blaine decides something. He’s been thinking about it for awhile, wanting to  _try_ , but something has been holding him back. Fear, maybe. Fear that he can’t. That he’ll fail. But, no better time than now, he figures.  
  
He finishes scrubbing the shampoo from his hair, blinking the water from his eyes, hand falling to his lap. Inhale. Exhale. He can do this. He thinks back to last night, how much he  _wanted_. Wanted to give it all back to Kurt, to show Kurt how much he loves him.  
  
He drifts a hand over and strokes himself tentatively. It feels foreign, strange. Since last March when Kurt took that first step, he’s only been touched a handful of times, and Kurt’s always been hesitant to go too far, too fast, like he’s scared Blaine will shatter with one wrong move.  
  
It takes a moment, but soon he can feel himself respond, eyes fluttering closed at the rush as he begins to harden. Cautiously he wraps his hand around himself. He still can’t grip things very well, his muscles are stiff and his joints don’t seem to bend like they used too. But he tries anyway, pushing these thoughts away and bringing Kurt to his mind. Kurt from last night, half naked, his pale, smooth skin flush against Blaine, strong fingers sliding behind his neck, teasing at the curls Kurt keeps insisting they need to cut. He thinks of the way their lips felt crushed together, the way Kurt moaned, desperate and needy, as Blaine’s hands had slid down his sides, thumbs pressing into his hipbones. Blaine moves his hand faster, feeling the tightness beginning to coil inside him as he remembers the way Kurt had pressed against him, they way he could feel Kurt, hard and right  _there_  as Blaine stroked the sensitive skin right above his thighs.  
  
And then Blaine remembers how he stopped, fear and embarrassment freezing his hands, panic stilling his eager breaths. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t give back what Kurt had given him and it pained him. He remembers the way Kurt slowed, pulling away as he felt Blaine stall. He touched a kiss to Blaine’s forehead, right at his hairline, when Blaine had refused to meet his gaze, staring blankly at his lap instead. He hadn’t said anything when Blaine slid down and curled into himself, his back to Kurt. No words were needed. He had simply snuggled into Blaine, nose tickling the hairs at the base of his neck, a hand giving his arm a comforting squeeze.  
  
Blaine picks up his pace, his breath quickening as he becomes desperate. He  _needs_  this. He  _has_  to do this. He has to prove to himself that he can. The heat is there, Blaine can feel it, low in his belly, the occasional shock of pleasure shooting through him, and he bites his lip to stifle an anxious whimper. But his motions are awkward and jerky, and he can’t find any sort of rhythm that can bring him past half hard, and he’s already beginning to feel tired. His fingers ache from the tight grip, fatigue beginning to outweigh any sort of pleasure and just like last night, Blaine finds himself stuttering to a halt. He thinks of Kurt’s hands, so long and smooth, his touch practiced and his movements gentle, and he feels so clumsy and inept by comparison.  
  
Tears of frustration prick at his eyes and he stops, letting his head fall in his hands. Not even the steaming water can wash away his failure.  
   
   
 _December 2 nd, 2019_  
   
They’re setting up the Christmas decorations when the phone rings. Blaine is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting out the ornaments from the tinsel and garlands, humming along to the holiday playlist he’s spent the weekend working on. Kurt jumps, surprised by the sudden noise, Blaine’s eyes following him as he rushes into the kitchen, only to groan in frustration at the empty receiver. Blaine’s watches in amusement as he tears through the living room and (much to his shame) he’s slightly out of breath when he finally spots the phone on the dresser in their bedroom.  
  
“Hello?” Kurt answers, feeling triumphant that he didn’t miss the call.  
  
“Hi, this is Anita with TBI Support, I was calling for Blaine?” The woman on the line sounds professional, if a little confused, and Kurt frowns. He glances towards the living room, curiosity peaking and he knows it’s wrong but he finds himself lowering his voice and shutting the bedroom door anyway.  
  
“Blaine’s not available right now, can I help you?” Kurt asks smoothly.  
  
“Oh, you are…?” the woman trails off questioningly.  
  
“I’m Kurt, Blaine’s fiancé,” Kurt puts unnecessary emphasis on the last word.  
  
“Oh yes, Kurt,” the woman, says like she knows who he is. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.”  
  
“I don’t believe we have,” Kurt says, feeling more and more confused.  
  
“Well, I was just calling because Blaine missed last week’s meeting, and I just wanted to check in and make sure he’s doing alright and see if he’s coming this week.”  
  
Kurt looks towards the closed door, processing what she just said.  
  
“I’m sorry…meeting?”  
  
“Yeah, the support group meeting? Blaine didn’t show up last week and we were worried about him.”  
  
“Oh, um, Blaine had migraines last week,” Kurt hears himself say, almost automatically.  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Anita responds, sounding genuine. “Will you remind him the meeting is Wednesday at eleven and that we hope he’s feeling well enough to come?”  
  
“Um…sure,” Kurt says, at a loss for words.  
  
“And Kurt, we’d love to see you there sometime. You’re all he talks about,” her voice is warm and Kurt is genuinely baffled.  
  
“Oh, yeah.”  
  
“Alright, tell Blaine we called, okay?”  
  
“I will, thanks,” Kurt says and ends the call. He sits for a moment, staring at the phone before rising and heading back into the living room. Blaine is struggling to untangle tinsel from plastic mistletoe, only glancing up when Kurt sits heavily on the couch.  
  
“Who called?” He asks, brow creasing slightly as he looks up. Kurt studies Blaine, so innocently calm and trusting, and wonders what he’s been hiding. He clears his throat.  
  
“Anita,” Kurt says flatly.  Understanding slowly dawns on Blaine’s face and he looks down at the tangled mistletoe in his hands.  
  
“Have you been going to meetings?” Kurt asks and Blaine picks at the tinsel.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Kurt frowns, trying to understand. “But…how?”  
  
Blaine is silent for a moment before answering.  
  
“Janessa drives me.”  
  
“Janessa?” Kurt repeats, surprised. Janessa still visits sometimes, brings dinner or a movie she thinks Blaine will like, but she hasn’t actually worked with Blaine since he started staying home on his own. Blaine just nods.  
  
“What…why…” Kurt struggles to find what he wants to say. “You’re going to a support group?”  
  
Blaine nods again, not meeting Kurt’s eyes.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Kurt tries to keep the hurt from his voice but fails miserably. Blaine keeps picking at the mistletoe.  
  
“I…I just needed to talk to someone who understands,” Blaine says quietly and Kurt thinks he almost sounds ashamed.  
  
“I understand,” Kurt says and Blaine raises his eyes to look at him because no, he doesn’t.  
  
“You don’t,” Blaine shakes his head. “You don’t know what it’s like not to know your own body, your own  _thoughts._  You don’t know…” His voice cracks and he stops, flustered.  
  
“You could’ve told me,” Kurt tries and fails to catch Blaine’s gaze. “That you needed help.”  
  
“Don’t,” Blaine’s harsh word cuts Kurt off. “You just…don’t get it. I wanted…I  _needed_  to do this on my own. Without you.”  
  
Kurt feels like he’s been slapped.  
  
“Without me,” Kurt repeats. He can feel heat rising in his face, his voice unsteady. “Why?”  
  
“Think about it, Kurt.” There’s a tone in Blaine’s voice that Kurt doesn’t recognize, and it scares him. He’s seen Blaine angry, so, so angry over the past year and a half, but it’s always been directed at himself. At the world. Never at Kurt. And not like this. “Do you even have friends anymore?”  
  
“What?” Kurt asks, not understanding. Blaine finally looks up as he lets the mistletoe fall to the ground.  
  
“You never go out, you never see  _anyone_ ,” Blaine says, voice steady and eyes even.  
  
“What? What does that have to do with anything?” Kurt’s voice rises and he’s feeling increasingly frustrated with this conversation.  
  
“Because, Kurt, you don’t have a life anymore,” Blaine pauses, and when he speaks again his words are harsh. “You never go out with friends, you never do anything! You don’t do anything for yourself anymore. But I want to do something for _myself_  so you wouldn’t understand, would you?”  
  
Kurt knows Blaine is easy to anger, that sometimes he says things without thinking, but he still feels himself begin to vibrate, cheeks burning, eyes stinging.  
  
“You think I don’t want to, Blaine? That I don’t miss my friends? I do! But I’m stuck here, taking care of you!”  
  
As soon as the words leave his mouth he wishes he could reach out and snatch them back. But he can’t and Blaine looks like they were bullets straight through his heart.  
  
“Blaine…that’s not what I meant…” Kurt says immediately, sliding of the couch and over to Blaine. He reaches out to him but Blaine pulls away, his whole body stiff with tension.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt tries, blinking back the tears that are threatening to fall. The words hang between them and they feel like acid. “I didn’t…”  
  
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Blaine says quietly. He shifts away from Kurt, his fingers reaching for his walker. He slides his legs under him, gripping the walker tightly and pulling himself to his feet with a grunt. Kurt wants to help, to slip his hand under Blaine’s elbow in case he gets vertigo, or a head-rush, but he doesn’t want to agitate Blaine further.  
  
“Blaine, please. I love  _you_  and I don’t want to spend my days with anyone else.”  
  
Blaine leans heavily on his walker, looking more exhausted than Kurt’s seen him look in a long time. Kurt feels it too, like the air in the room has become denser, weighing down on them. “That’s why I don’t see why you couldn’t tell me. You can tell me anything, Blaine.”  
  
Blaine’s knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the walker, his face a swirl of emotion that Kurt wishes he could read.  
  
“You wouldn’t understand,” Blaine repeats himself from earlier and Kurt throws his hands up in exasperation.  
  
“I’m trying, Blaine! I want to understand you! But I can’t when you keep things like this from me.”  
  
Blaine’s face is drawn, his lips moving like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know how. Or what.  
  
“I would have supported you,” Kurt says after a moment, rising to his feet. Blaine flexes his fingers and Kurt would give anything to know what he’s feeling. “I would have gone with you.”  
  
“I don’t  _want_  you to go with me, Kurt,” Blaine says, his voice strained and Kurt can’t help the tendril of worry in his gut. He’s never seen Blaine act like this and it scares him.  
  
“But, why?”  
  
“Because I want to have sex with you!” Blaine shouts abruptly and Kurt stops. Blinks. This is not what he was expecting. Blaine’s face is red, with anger or embarrassment, Kurt doesn’t know. Maybe both.  
  
“I want to have sex with you but you treat me like some delicate flower, like you’re afraid to crush me, and I want to  _show_ you. I want to show you what I want, Kurt, but I don’t know how and I need help, okay? And I didn’t want to tell you because it’s something I need to do, for  _me_ …”  
  
Blaine’s hands curl and uncurl into fists, his eyes rapidly filling with tears that slip quietly down his cheeks and he angrily scrubs them away.  
  
“Can’t I do this for  _me_?”  
  
Kurt is silent for a moment, processing everything Blaine just said. Blaine wants sex. Blaine wants  _sex_. That’s what this is all about? Kurt’s beginning to feel a bit like an idiot, but his fiancé is crying and hurting and he pushes it aside for now.  
  
“Of course you can,” Kurt says stepping forward. Blaine steps away and Kurt think he can actually feel his heart breaking. He lets his hands fall uselessly to his sides. Blaine stares at the carpet, refusing to meet his gaze.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says softly.  
  
That night Blaine sleeps on the couch and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever felt so alone.  
 

   
 _December 3 rd, 2019_  
   
“Coffee?”  
  
Kurt nods and sits down on the floral couch gingerly. Janessa smiles at him and bustles around the kitchen.  
  
“Thanks for meeting me so early,” Kurt says to her  and she just shrugs.  
  
“I don’t have class until eleven today anyways. Besides, I never see you anymore.”  
  
“But you’ve been seeing plenty of Blaine lately.”  
  
Janessa pauses, looking over to him, her eyes apologetic.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, rubbing his temples. “It’s just…Blaine and I got into a fight last night.”  
  
Janessa looks sympathetic, padding back over to him and handing him a mug. She sits in the green plaid rocking chair across from him. A fat orange cat twirls against her feet and she reaches down to scratch his ears.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“I found out about the support group,” Kurt says, rubbing his hands on his legs nervously. “And I might have reacted a little…regrettably, but Blaine just…exploded.”  
  
“Fighting is natural, Kurt,” Janessa says reassuringly. “Honestly, I’d be worried if you guys never fought.”  
  
Kurt looks into his coffee, as if he could find all the answers hidden in the pale swirls of creamer.  
  
“I think I’ve been so wrapped up in keeping Blaine safe, that I haven’t paid attention to what he actually  _wants_.”  
  
The cat nudges against Kurt’s leg as he speaks before jumping onto the couch beside him. Kurt strokes his back, feels the soft vibrations as he purrs his contentment.  
  
“Don’t beat yourself up, Kurt,” Janessa says and Kurt takes a nervous sip of coffee. “You put so much work into making sure Blaine is  _okay_ , and we both know he’s not very good at expressing his emotions.”  
  
“I know… It’s just, I try and be there for him, you know? I tell him  _everything_ , and I don’t know why he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t…he won’t talk to me. I had no idea he wanted  _sex_ ,” Kurt says the last word quietly, cheeks flushing and he stares at the cat, frowning as he starts licking Kurt’s pants. Janessa taps a rhythm on her mug before speaking.  
  
“Kurt, I’ve been talking to Blaine a lot lately,” she says slowly, as if weighing Kurt’s reaction. Kurt just takes a sip of coffee, concentrating on the cat. “He does trust you, and he really wants to talk to you about all… _this_ ,” she waves her hand in Kurt’s direction and he feels himself blushing, “but he doesn’t know how.”  
  
“But…” Kurt starts and Janessa cuts him off.  
  
“He’s embarrassed, Kurt.”  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
Janessa leans back in her chair, taking a long drink and raising an eyebrow at Kurt.  
  
“Why haven’t you had sex with him yet?”  
  
Kurt blinks and looks back down. The cat looks up at him, cocking his head as if interested in his answer.  
  
“I want to,” he says, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “I just…I’m scared of hurting him. I don’t want it to be too much for him.” Pause. “I don’t want to do something wrong and screw everything up.”  
  
“Have you ever considered that maybe, Blaine feels the same?” Kurt frowns at Janessa’s words.  
  
“Put yourself in Blaine’s shoes,” Janessa continues before Kurt can say anything. “You’re hot, Kurt, and of course Blaine wants to tap that.” Kurt snorts. “Blaine’s improved so much, and he wants to move forward, to get back to the life he had before. But he can’t do things like he used to, and he needs help. I know you guys have been…experimenting, and that you’ve guided him through everything. Now Blaine wants to give it back to you, but he’s still getting used to his body and he doesn’t want to hurt  _you_.”  
  
Kurt sips his coffee, thinking over Janessa’s words. It makes sense. Blaine’s seeming agitation when they make out, why he was so scared to talk about it until Kurt forced it out of him. He wasn’t angry or uninterested. He was scared and embarrassed. After a moment Janessa speaks again.  
  
“That’s why he’s going to the support group. There’s only so much you and I can do for him, and some things he needs to figure out on his own. You’ve always been there for him, but you can’t help him with everything.”  
  
Kurt nods and he finally understands.  
  
“I’m an idiot,” he breathes and Janessa chuckles.  
  
“No, you’re in love. There’s a difference.” Kurt smiles and she gets up, shuffling over to her bookshelf and extracting two books. She hands them over and Kurt can feel the red creeping back into his cheeks as he reads the titles.  _Sex after Brain Injury? Get ready for the ride!_  and  _20 Safe (and mind blowing!) Sex Positions_.  
  
“I did a research project on this,” Janessa explains and taps her finger on the cover of the second book. “We used this one when my boyfriend sprained his back. The best is on page twelve.”  
  
Kurt raises an eyebrow at her and Janessa smiles mischievously, kneeling on the couch beside Kurt.  
  
“I can demonstrate for you if you want.” Kurt swats her arm and Janessa just shrugs. “Your loss.”  
  
“I’m heartbroken,” Kurt responds before looking at Janessa earnestly. “Thank you, though. For being there for Blaine.” Janessa leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.  
  
“Anytime, yo,” she says and gives his arm a squeeze. “Good luck.”  
  
-  
  
It’s mid-afternoon when Kurt gets home. Blaine won’t be expecting him. Snow crunches under his boots and he walks up to the house, his purchases hidden behind his back.  
  
“Blaine?” he calls when he gets inside, hanging his jacket in the closet and kicking off his boots. Silence greets him. He frowns and hopes Blaine’s not still mad at him.  
  
“Blaine,” he shouts again, padding into the living room. Everything is impeccably clean, but no one’s there. Refusing to let himself panic yet he makes his way to the bedroom. The bed is made and empty. The bathroom is open and vacant and Kurt’s heart begins to thud in his chest. He races back into the living room, heading for the kitchen when he stops abruptly. The back door is slightly open, Blaine’s walker abandoned beside it.  
  
Cautiously Kurt toes on the slippers he keeps by the door, and quietly slips outside. Blaine is leaning against the wood railing of their tiny porch, wearing only a hoodie for warmth. Kurt’s stomach twists nervously.  
  
“Blaine?” he says softly, moving to stand beside his fiancé. Blaine doesn’t look at him, just continues to stare at his clasped hands, his breath misting the air in long puffs.  
  
“It’s cold out.” Kurt wishes he had brought his jacket so he could wrap it over Blaine’s shoulders.  
  
“You’re home early,” Blaine says and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. At least Blaine is talking to him.  
  
“I wanted to see you,” Kurt says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is, to him. Silence presses down on them and Kurt watches the snow falling, tiny flakes glinting in the afternoon sun.  
  
“I’m sorry, Blaine, about what I said last night. I shouldn’t have pushed you, and I didn’t mean what I said.”  
  
Blaine stirs beside him, eyes flickering up to Kurt’s face.  
  
“It’s my fault. I should have told you but…” he digs his thumbnail into the wood railing. “I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just… It’s so hard to control. It’s like I feel everything at once and I can’t…filter anything.”     
  
“I know,” Kurt wraps his hands around Blaine’s. “I should have trusted you. You’re your own person, Blaine. And I’m my own person. I’ve spent so long helping you that I think…I’ve forgotten.  But Blaine, you know I love you, more than anything. You’re the tinsel to my mistletoe.”  
Blaine leans into Kurt until his head is resting on his shoulder.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Blaine says, air misting with every word.  
  
“You shouldn’t have had too, if you didn’t want too.” Kurt presses a kiss into his curls.  
  
“You need a haircut,” his voice is muffled and Blaine chuckles. There’s a comfortable silence, both boys content with just _this_. Being close.  
  
“Tinsel to my mistletoe?” Blaine breaks the quiet with a smile and Kurt shrugs.  
  
“You better believe it. That shit never comes apart.”  
  
Blaine laughs and Kurt feels a surge of warmth in his heart.  
  
“Now let’s get you inside. You’re freezing and I got you a present.”  
  
\-    
  
Blaine’s present is two books with atrocious titles and a bottle of lube with a tacky silver bow stuck on top, all topped with a single red rose. Blaine blinks as he looks from the table to Kurt, who is gazing at him anxiously and it’s only then that Blaine realizes Kurt is actually  _serious_.  
  
“How romantic,” Blaine says, amused, picking up the bottle of lube and turning it over in his hand. Kurt is pressing in behind him, his chest flush with Blaine’s back, chin resting on his shoulder and Blaine can feel his warmth seeping into him.  
  
“I thought that maybe, if you wanted too, we could try something new,” Kurt whispers, voice seductive, yet tinged with nervousness. A smile creeps onto Blaine’s face despite his own nerves fluttering in his belly. He had half expected that, despite his words, Kurt would still want to wait it out.  
  
“I already skimmed through the books, but we can wait for you to read them…if you want too,” Kurt’s sounding more anxious with Blaine’s lack of response and Blaine sets down the lube and turns, taking Kurt’s hands in his own.  
  
“You can give me the cliff notes version,” Blaine says, voice sounding higher than he would like and Kurt’s eyes crinkle at the corner as he smiles and squeezes his fingers.  
  
“Your hands are freezing,” he says and Blaine doesn’t argue because his whole body feels like it’s turned into ice, and he knows standing outside without a jacket was probably the stupidest thing he’s done in awhile. Kurt lifts Blaine’s right hand, the one that always seems to give him the most trouble, and presses a kiss to the fingers before parting his lips and exhaling. Blaine feels a tingle go down his spine. Kurt caresses the back of his hand and before Blaine is entirely aware of what’s going on Kurt is slipping his finger in his mouth and  _oh_.  
  
Kurt’s eyes stay on his and his mouth is hot and Blaine thinks his heart might beat out of his chest. Eyes flutter shut as Kurt slips a second finger in his mouth, warming them with an experimental suck and Blaine wonders how he ended up with someone so perfect and caring and tender. After a moment Kurt draws Blaine’s fingers back, lowering their hands and pressing their lips together. There’s a passion in the kiss, lacking the urgency and desperation that had Blaine faltering before, and Blaine knows Kurt finally understands.  
  
Blaine parts his lips, taking a step so their chests are flush and he can feel the hammering of Kurt’s heart, matching his own. The kiss is careful but wonderful, Kurt’s hands sliding down Blaine’s sides, playing with the hem of his shirt before crawling underneath and stroking smooth against his skin. Blaine moans but his knees go weak because this is a lot to take in and he’s emotionally and physically exhausted and he’s not sure his brain can keep up right now.  
  
“Kurt,” he whispers, lips still clinging to his fiancé’s, as though reluctant to let go. Kurt pulls back, eyes meeting Blaine’s, concerned.  
  
“Is this okay?” Kurt asks. Blaine nods.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just…tired,” he says, reluctant but Kurt understands, withdrawing his hands from under Blaine’s shirt and wrapping them around his back instead. Blaine lets his head rest in the crook of Kurt’s neck. He smells like vanilla and musk and love.  
  
“Tonight?” Blaine murmurs into Kurt’s neck, and Kurt nods.  
  
“Tonight.”


	9. (feel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But the more Blaine improves, the more aware he becomes; the more he understands what’s happened, what he can’t do, what he’ll never do, the more sad he becomes. It’s not like before, when Blaine would get angry. He rarely gets angry anymore, but Kurt almost wishes he would. At least when he was angry he showed emotion, fight, feeling. Not this…apathy that’s overpowering him, this despair that’s draining him.

_November 16 th, 2018_  
   
The sun is warm, despite the chill in the wind, the air filled with the musky scent of freshly fallen leaves. They crunch under Kurt’s boots, the wheels of Blaine’s chair, skittering across the driveway with each gust of wind. Only a few leaves still cling to the trees, brown and brittle, one strong gust away from falling and Kurt hopes they can hold on a little longer. He doesn’t know why, can’t really explain it, but he feels a connection with those shriveled, dry leaves, holding so desperately to the tree that’s been their whole existence. To the memory of how beautiful and vibrant and full of life they used to be, unwilling to let go. Not yet.  
  
A leaf shakes, detaches, twirls with the wind before landing and Kurt looks away, ignoring the way his chest has tightened, pushes Blaine to the car.  
  
Helping Blaine into the car is getting easier now, another routine they are both becoming familiar with. Kurt hooks an arm under Blaine’s, reaching across his back and they half-stand, Blaine leaning into Kurt as Kurt supports his weight, pivoting Blaine and lowering him gently, gently until Blaine is sitting on the edge of the passenger seat. Kurt slips an arm under Blaine’s legs, lifting and turning, Blaine’s hands grabbing the seat, trying to help, to make this easier for Kurt. It really doesn’t, but Kurt lets him do it anyways because more than anything Blaine wants to  _help_. So Kurt lets him attempt the buckle, one hand holding the seatbelt slack, the other on Blaine’s, steadying his hand and providing support until they hear the little click. With a quick kiss to the cheek, Kurt ducks from the passenger side, closing the door, folding up the wheelchair and lifting it into the trunk.  
  
Blaine looks at Kurt quizzically as he slides into the driver’s seat and Kurt smiles at him.  
  
“You ready?”  
  
Blaine makes a noise in his throat, the one they’ve been practicing in speech therapy, and cocks his head and Kurt knows what he’s trying to say.  
  
“I’m still not telling you,” he says as he starts the car, backing out of the driveway and pulling onto the road. “It’s a surprise silly.”  
  
Blaine furrows his brow, groaning at Kurt’s stubbornness as he turns to look back out the window.  
  
“Hey, you’re going to love it,” Kurt says, reaching across to rest a hand on Blaine’s leg. “I promise.”  
  
Blaine sets his hand on Kurt’s, letting their fingers twine together, squeezing tighter than is strictly necessary and Kurt knows Blaine is nervous. Aside from their morning walks and therapy appointments, Blaine hasn’t been out of the house, in public, very often. Kurt runs his thumb soothingly along the dips of Blaine’s knuckles.  
  
“You’ll be fine, Blaine,” Kurt reassures glancing from the road to Blaine. “But we can leave if you’re uncomfortable, okay?”  
  
Blaine nods, hums his understanding and they drive in silence for awhile, their hands stay clasped until they get into busier traffic and Kurt has to concentrate on driving. Blaine lets his head fall back against the headrest, watching the world race by through the window with mild interest.  
  
It takes about forty minutes for them to reach their destination, Kurt parking and helping Blaine from the car and into his chair. He takes a quick moment to fuss with Blaine’s scarf, smoothing his hands over Blaine’s jacket and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Blaine’s eyes are sad when he pulls away. They’re always sad, lately. That’s why Kurt is doing this. More than anything, he just wants to see Blaine smile again.  
  
Blaine’s been making progress, so much progress. Every week they do tests, and every week he improves; problem solving, critical thinking, depth perception, motor function, vocal range. Kurt doesn’t think he could feel more proud of how much Blaine is achieving, how hard he’s trying. But the more Blaine improves, the more aware he becomes; the more he understands what’s happened, what he  _can’t_  do, what he’ll  _never_  do, the more sad he becomes. It’s not like before, when Blaine would get angry. He rarely gets angry anymore, but Kurt almost wishes he would. At least when he was angry he showed emotion,  _fight_ , feeling. Not this…apathy that’s overpowering him, this despair that’s draining him. Kurt can see the way Blaine becomes more withdrawn, eyes downcast and poignant, trying so, so hard at his therapy, but nothing else. It’s this lack of emotion that worries Kurt more than anything else, and he can’t remember the last time Blaine smiled.  
  
There’s a poster outside the doors.  _Sweeney Todd starring Alexander Russo and Rachel Berry_. He stops, letting Blaine take it in. They’re here early, but people are already moving around them to enter the building.  
  
“It’s not quite Broadway but…” Kurt trails off, shrugging. “It’s Rachel’s first lead and we haven’t been to a show since… I thought it would be fun.”  
  
Kurt moves so he can look at Blaine, gauging his reaction. He looks the same as he always does, lately, face impassive, though slightly more contemplative in a way Kurt can’t read.  
  
“Is this alright?” Blaine’s eyes shift from the poster to meet Kurt’s, and for a second he’s afraid Blaine won’t want to stay, this is too much for him.  
  
“Mmm,” Blaine hums, nodding. Kurt smiles, relief flooding through him and he gives Blaine’s hand a squeeze before pushing them into the building.  
  
It’s unavoidable, he knows. The looks. Humans are curious by nature, they’re going to stare, even if they don’t mean to. It’s not bad here, an inquisitive glance, eyes lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, at the man in the wheelchair, limbs held abnormally stiff, winding scars still visible through his hair. Kurt knows they don’t mean anything by it, but the way  Blaine draws his shoulders down, trying to make himself smaller, his hands gripping at his forearms in a way Kurt knows would leave scratches if he didn’t have his coat, makes it hard for Kurt to not feel annoyed and angry. Blaine is far more aware than most seem to think, embarrassment and  _shame_  press down on him, making him shrink into his chair with each sidelong glance, each child that whispers “Mommy, what happened to that man?”  
  
Kurt moves them through the lobby as quickly as he can. The handicap seats are in the very front, to the side, and Kurt is silently thankful. He locks Blaine’s chair in place and kneels in front of him, unwinding the scarf from his neck before sliding his fingers under Blaine’s, gently prying them from his forearms.  
  
“Do you want to leave your coat on?” Kurt asks softly, trying to judge Blaine’s mood. Blaine nods, eyes fixed on their clasped hands, relaxing slightly now that they are mostly alone. Kurt massages Blaine’s fingers, trying to rub some warmth into them. He’s always so cold, now.  
  
“Are you okay? Do you want to leave? We don’t have to stay, Rachel will understand,” Kurt says in a rush and Blaine raises his eyebrows. Right. Too many questions.  
  
“Do you want to leave?” Kurt chooses one. Blaine shakes his head, squeezes Kurt’s fingers reassuringly. Kurt smiles, maneuvers into the seat beside Blaine, only letting go of his hands to take off his own jacket, before resuming his attempt to warm them.  
  
“Rachel hasn’t stopped talking about this since she got the part,” Kurt says, noting the way the auditorium is slowly beginning to fill with people, eyes fixing on Blaine’s face for signs of discomfort. “I’ve been forced to read the lines opposite her during my lunch break so she can practice. Not who I would have imagined for Mrs. Lovett, but she actually does the accent spot on.”  
  
Blaine’s eyebrows draw down in the way they do when he’s listening, eyes roaming over the stage, and Kurt feels the smallest seed of success blooming through his chest. Blaine’s here, relaxing, more at ease in public than Kurt’s seen him in awhile.  
  
They sit in a comfortable silence while they wait for the show to start, the occasional person sliding past them and Blaine doesn’t seem to mind, content to let Kurt massage his hands, warming and loosening the knotted muscles. It’s been a few days since he’s given Blaine a proper massage, Kurt realizes with a pang of guilt, knowing how tense and sore he must be feeling. Kurt makes a mental note to fix this tonight.  
  
The lights dim and Blaine shifts, their shoulders touching. After a rather obnoxious reminder to turn off their cell phones the music starts, loud and encompassing. The lead is good, his chemistry with Rachel undeniable. Rachel’s enthusiasm is almost overwhelming, her voice made for Broadway, the smile on her face genuine and Kurt is happy for her, he really is, but it isn’t her he is watching. His attention is fixed on Blaine in his peripheral vision (after ten minutes of looking directly at Blaine, Blaine had looked at him pointedly until he turned his head towards the stage). Blaine eyes are wide, face completely enthralled by what is happening on the stage, a  _smile_  tugging at his lips with Rachel’s overly dramatic acting and ridiculous accent and Kurt couldn’t feel happier if he’d been given an entire Hermes bag filled with gold.  
  
Intermission comes and goes and when they resume their seats, Blaine seems almost excited for the show to start, eyes expectant, hand reaching easily for Kurt’s and Kurt sits back with a relaxed smile. The second half is just as impressive as the first, Rachel’s death scene played to dramatic perfection and in the end she receives a standing ovation and Blaine keeps smiling and Kurt hasn’t felt so happy in a long time.  
  
They decide to wait for Rachel in the lobby, off to the side while they wait for the crowd to disperse. Kurt feels light, like things are finally starting to go right for once; his fiancé is relaxed in public, his best friend is achieving her dreams, and tonight has gone better than he could have imagined. Until:  
  
“Mr. Hummel?”  
  
Kurt turns around, heart stuttering when he sees the girl approaching them.  
  
“Clara?” She nods, smiling. He remembers meeting her a few times, one of Blaine’s music students, bursting with talent that had always gotten Blaine so excited. He had liked her at the time, but now…Kurt has no idea how Blaine will react to seeing one of his students. Or how she will react to seeing him, for that matter.  
  
“Hey!” she exclaims before the smiles slips off her face as her eyes flicker to the wheelchair half hidden behind Kurt. Kurt’s not really sure what to do as she glides around until she’s facing Blaine.  
  
“Mr. Anderson?” Kurt wants to cringe because he knows how much Blaine hates being called that, and really, Clara does too, but he can see she looks as nervous as Kurt is feeling. He knows  _before_  Blaine would have been excited to see one of his students in the community, becoming culturally aware and artistically diverse, or whatever it was that Blaine always said. He would have chatted with her for so long and with such enthusiasm that Kurt would roll his eyes and wonder exactly who was the adult and who was the teenager.  
  
But now he can see the panic that flashes across Blaine’s eyes, the fear and embarrassment, the way he shrinks in, only the slightest bit but noticeable to Kurt, as he looks up at Clara. For a moment Kurt is frozen, unsure, as Clara’s eyes shift from Blaine to Kurt, as if deciding who to address.  
  
“Does he…can he understand…” Clara trails off, suddenly looking decidedly unsure and uncomfortable. Kurt nods, resting a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, offering support and silently hoping she doesn’t screw this all up.  
  
“Hey,” she says with a soft smile. “It’s really good to see you.”  
  
Blaine shifts.  
  
“Thanks Clara,” Kurt finds his voice, drawing her attention back up to him. “Did you enjoy the show?  Fancy some pie?” He gives a sarcastic chuckle and Clara laughs timidly.  
  
“Um...I think I’m good.”  
  
There’s an awkward pause and Kurt can see Clara is itching to ask about Blaine. Blaine who’s already vibrating with nervousness, growing more self-conscious with every silent second.  
  
“It was nice seeing you, Clara,” Kurt says, hoping she gets the hint. She looks torn, taking a step to leave while her face looks pained.  
  
“Um…” she bites her lip, glancing at Kurt apprehensively before back to Blaine. “We really miss you,” the words are sudden, rushed. She steps closer. “It’s not the same at the center without you.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes are fixed on Blaine, judging his expression, ready to make a quick excuse and fast exit if needed. Blaine looks surprised, a little uncomfortable but not overly so, not anymore, and Kurt wonders if maybe this is good. Maybe Blaine needs to hear he’s missed.  
  
“We set something up for you, to, you know, raise awareness?” Clara says it like a question, biting her lip as she looks at Blaine. “It’s tasteful though, not over the top. You would like it.”  
  
Kurt finds himself relaxing; Clara means well and is genuinely glad to see Blaine, but so caught off guard that her words are stumbling and unsure and Kurt finds it a little bit adorable. Her face suddenly lights up and she digs in her purse, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. She starts to hand it forward and pauses, as if unsure who to hand it to. Kurt smiles reassuringly and takes the paper from her, smoothing it out.  
  
“We’re having a Broadway themed show soon, you should come.” She looks pleased with herself for the idea.  
  
“Thanks Clara, we’ll try,” Kurt says, not wanting to promise anything. Clara smiles brightly.  
  
“Everyone misses you,” she says, voice earnest. “They’d all like to see you again.”  
  
Blaine looks up at Clara and smiles, actually  _smiles_ , and in that moment Kurt feels like falling to his knees and worshipping the ground she stands on. Instead he just watches as Blaine lifts a hand to his chest.  
  
“He’d love to,” Kurt interprets for Clara and adds, “we’ll do our best,” to keep an out, just in case.  
  
“Awesome!” Clara says, glancing over her shoulder. “I have to go. It was so nice seeing you, both.”  
  
“Nice seeing you too, Clara,” Kurt says and he knows Blaine’s thinking it because he gives a small wave as she turns and leaves. Kurt lets his hand fall from Blaine’s shoulder, fingers playing with the hem of Blaine’s sleeve as he watches Clara leave.  
  
“She’s sweet,” he says, and Blaine turns his arm so he can twine his fingers with Kurt’s. “You’re amazing,” Kurt’s voice is soft and he’s not sure if Blaine hears him because Rachel is skipping up to them, smile wide and face shining, and she throws herself onto Kurt.  
  
“You came!”  
  
“Of course, we’d never miss this,” Kurt says as Rachel pulls away and leans down to wrap Blaine in an equally tight hug. Blaine looks slightly stunned, and Kurt supposes he’s had a lot more attention today than he’s used to, but he returns the hug and Kurt’s not sure if the evening could be going any better. “Besides, I knew you’d try to poison my coffee or something if we missed.”  
  
Rachel ignores the jab, releasing Blaine and bouncing excitedly.  
  
“So…what did you think?” She looks at Kurt expectantly and he smiles.  
  
“You were perfectly morose and marvelously melodramatic,” he says and she beams before frowning.  
  
“It wasn’t too much? I was worried about the tears…”  
  
“Rachel, only someone of true talent can cry that convincingly for ten straight minutes,” Kurt reassures.  
  
“Really?” Rachel looks so hopeful that Kurt can’t help but smile.  
  
“Truly. You were phenomenal.”  
  
Blaine hums in agreement and Rachel looks between them, practically radiating happiness.  
  
“Thank you,” she looks over to where her other cast mates are waving her over. “I’ll come visit soon so we can analyze the finer points of my performance.”  
  
She leans in and gives Kurt a quick peck on the cheek, and then Blaine. Kurt wishes her a good evening and then she’s gone and finally they can leave.  
  
-  
  
It’s late when they get home, but Kurt hasn’t forgotten his mental promise. Blaine’s had a long day, he’s done so, so well, and Kurt knows he’s worn out, muscles sore from the stress and anxiety of the day. He fires up the hot tub, steam and the metallic scent of chlorine filling the air. It’s small, just enough room for the two of them, a gift from Blaine’s mom, who had been doing research on homeopathic treatments, and read somewhere that hot tubs helped with muscle stiffness and headaches. It was a bit excessive, but Kurt isn’t about to complain. And it really does seem to help Blaine; there is something about the water, being weightless and warm, that allows Blaine to move almost like normal again.  
  
Kurt helps Blaine into his swimsuit, wraps him up in far too many towels so he won’t get cold. Getting into the hot tub is a process they’ve worked at perfecting. Blaine sits on the side, clinging tightly to the edge, while Kurt scrambles in, supporting hand never leaving Blaine’s back. He rotates Blaine’s legs into the tub and slides him in, chest flush against Blaine’s back, arms wrapped securely around him. Blaine ends up in Kurt’s lap, and Kurt settles them in, chin resting in the crook of Blaine’s neck.  
  
Normally they would work on Blaine’s range of motion, bending and straightening each joint, and Blaine would actually _move_ , the water washing away the stiffness, the awkwardness. This time Kurt just lets them sit, Blaine nestled between his legs, Kurt’s calves locking with Blaine’s to keep them in place.  
  
“Lean forward,” Kurt instructs gently, helps Blaine move away from his chest, lets his hands trace lines down Blaine’s back, the sensation heightened under the water. He starts at the bottom, practiced fingers massaging the muscles, lightly at first and then with more force. He works his way up, feeling the knots, the kinks, the twists, kneading at them until they give, Blaine sighing with relief each time. Eyes flutter closed as Kurt’s thumbs press in just under his shoulder blades, kneading small circles, and Kurt leans forward to touch a light kiss to Blaine’s spine, not caring that it leaves the taste of chlorine on his lips.  
  
Blaine makes a small noise in his throat, so soft Kurt’s not even sure he heard it, and Kurt lets his hands fall still for a moment, lips pressing to Blaine’s back again, just below his neck. Blaine’s whimper is more audible this time and Kurt lets his nose nuzzle the dip at the base of Blaine’s neck, fingers running lightly across his skin.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” Kurt whispers and he means so much more. Blaine shifts his shoulders and Kurt pulls away, convincing himself his vision is blurring from the steam.  
  
He massages Blaine’s back until his hands are sore and he’s certain every knot has been worked free, every muscle relaxed, Blaine breathing deeper, easier than before. He lets Blaine fall back against his chest, hands still working at his shoulders and Blaine sinks into him, boneless, head resting against Kurt’s shoulder, eyes closed, face peaceful.  
  
“I hope today was okay,” Kurt says softly, working slowly from Blaine’s shoulders up to his neck, thumbs kneading up to the base of Blaine’s skull. Blaine leans into the touch and Kurt can feel the vibration of his hum in his fingertips.  
  
“Everyone really misses you, you know. They all want to see you.”  
  
Blaine is silent, still. Kurt moves his hands down, slipping under the water, where he knows they’ll get pruney but somehow doesn’t care, wrapping around Blaine’s waist, pulling him closer.  
  
“You were so brave today,” Kurt whispers. Blaine shifts against him. “Thank you.”  
  
Blaine’s hair is damp with steam and full of skin-drying chemicals, but Kurt lets his cheek rest against him anyways, pressing a kiss behind his ear. Blaine’s hand rests on Kurt’s thigh, thumb stroking an uneven rhythm. Kurt feels his lips twitch into a smile.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Blaine lifts his arm, threading his fingers through Kurt’s, raising his hand to his heart.  _I love you too_.  
  
They sit there for a long while, even though Kurt knows the chlorine is doing nothing for his skin, until Blaine’s breathing slows, evens out, hand falling to rest back against Kurt’s leg.  
  
Blaine’s having a rough time, Kurt knows. He’s frustrated and overwhelmed and  _tired_. Some days everything seems bleak, pointless. Some days Blaine seems ready to give up. But today…today gives Kurt hope.  
  
Hope that things will get better.  
  
Some day.


	10. Resolution, Evolution: a continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But this…this reminds Blaine of before, and if he closes his eyes, lets the gentle melody wash over him, he can almost imagine nothing has changed. That he’s the same Blaine he was so long ago, and there’s no reason to be nervous about having sex with his fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content

_December 3 rd, 2019 (later that night)_  
   
Kurt fiddles with the iPod and when the music starts Blaine’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. He’s been feeling like doing a lot of both, lately. The music is soft, mellow and romantic, and Blaine immediately recognizes it from the playlist. _Their_ playlist. The one they made together, so long ago now, carefully selecting each song, adding and deleting them as necessary. So that it remained perfect. Blaine suspects if he hadn’t…if everything hadn’t changed over the past year and a half, then the playlist would sound different. Out with the old, in with the new.  
  
But this…this reminds Blaine of  _before_ , and if he closes his eyes, lets the gentle melody wash over him, he can almost imagine nothing has changed. That he’s the same Blaine he was so long ago, and there’s no reason to be nervous about having sex with his fiancé.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt’s worried voice opens Blaine’s eyes. Kurt’s paused lighting the candles (and Blaine’s beginning to wonder whether the glint in his eyes is a fondness for candlelit sex or pyromania), and is looking at Blaine, face concerned.  
  
“You still have it,” Blaine says, but Kurt just looks even more confused. “The playlist.”  
  
“Of course I still have it,” Kurt responds, face relaxing with a smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember it.”  
  
“I remember,” Blaine says and Kurt’s face glows before he resumes lighting his candles. There are things that Blaine doesn’t remember, birthdays and people and events. Knocked out of his head with everything else. He didn’t remember Kurt’s birthday, or Finn’s girlfriend, or what they did on their last anniversary. Olivia and Janessa made flashcards, going over things again and again until he knew the important stuff, but there are still things, Kurt will mention something and Blaine will draw a blank. Kurt will reassure Blaine it’s ok, it’s not important, but Blaine always feels bad. That there’s something he can’t share with Kurt, something they’ve shared together that he doesn’t even know about.  
  
“Hey,” Kurt’s voice draws Blaine out of his thoughts and he realizes Kurt’s right there, face barely a foot from his own. “You here?”  
  
Blaine nods. “Sorry, just…thinking.”  
  
“Do you still want to do this? We can wait,” Kurt says, words rushed and concerned. Blaine just smiles, reaches out to Kurt’s arm and pulls him in until Kurt hits the bed, Blaine’s knees on either side of Kurt’s thighs. Kurt relaxes, hand reaching behind Blaine’s neck as Blaine tilts his head up. Kurt tastes like peppermint.  
  
This kiss is more heated, more desperate than the one earlier in the day. Kurt’s hands fall to Blaine’s waist, and Blaine reaches to Kurt’s shoulders, pulling him closer. His movements are still jerky and Kurt slips forward, hands falling to the bed on either side of Blaine, chest pressing flush against Blaine’s. Blaine tips, balance suddenly thrown off, and he falls backwards, landing on the bed with an ungraceful thump. The bed dips as Kurt crawls over him, hands on either side of Blaine’s shoulders, eyes twinkling.  
  
Kurt leans down until their noses are grazing and Blaine closes his eyes with an exhale as Kurt ghosts his lips against Blaine’s. Blaine parts his lips, tipping his head but Kurt surprises him, pressing a kiss to his chin, down his jaw, to his neck. A shiver runs down Blaine’s spine as Kurt’s breath tickles the sensitive skin.  
  
“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for me,” Blaine’s words are soft, heavy. Kurt just shakes his head, eyes warm and loving, silencing any more words with a kiss. He smoothes his thumb across Blaine’s cheek, brushing lightly over his earlobe and down his neck. It’s not much, but the message is clear.  _I would wait for you forever_.    
  
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Kurt breathes, moving his attention down Blaine’s body. Blaine stutters and feels himself blushing, embarrassed by his brain’s lack of anything intelligent to say. Kurt chuckles, lips colliding with Blaine’s quickly before pulling away and helping him back into a sitting position.  
  
“Let’s get you comfortable,” Kurt says and Blaine feels something sink inside him.  
  
“Please, Kurt,” he manages, looking pleadingly into Kurt’s eyes. “Not tonight.”  
  
Kurt frowns. “What is it? Did I do something?”  
  
Blaine shakes his head, looks at his toes, gives them a wiggle.  
  
“I want to do this…equally.” Another wiggle. “I don’t want you to…take care of me.”  
  
Kurt’s still for a moment and Blaine’s eyes stay locked on his feet, the fear of Kurt’s reaction coursing through him. Then hands, gripping his own, fingers twining tightly.  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt’s voice finally draws Blaine’s eyes, full of love and understanding. “We’re always equal. I just want this to be okay for you.”  
  
Blaine squeezes Kurt’s fingers, grounding himself.  
  
“I want…” he pauses, brain desperately trying to find the right words. “I’ll tell you if I need help. I promise.”  
  
“Of course,” Kurt says, hand detaching from Blaine’s to cup his jaw, lips pressing gently to Blaine’s. “Tonight is for you.”  
  
“Tonight is for  _us_ ,” Blaine corrects and Kurt hums, lips turning into a smile against Blaine’s.  
  
“Well, I would like  _us_  to be significantly more naked.”  
  
It’s an awkward scramble, neither wanting to break their kiss but rearranging themselves on the bed until Blaine’s pressed against the pillows, Kurt’s hands pulling up Blaine’s shirt, impeded only by Blaine’s own desire to help. Eventually Kurt pulls away with a laugh, swatting playfully at Blaine’s hands to stop, successfully yanking the shirt over his head before clumsily working at the buttons on his own shirt and throwing it to the floor.  
  
Then chests pressed flush, hot skin against hot skin, Kurt’s moan vibrating through Blaine. Blaine swallows the sound, lips parting so he can run his tongue along Kurt’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and releasing with a little nip. Blaine figures he’s doing something right because suddenly Kurt’s straddling him, fingers running down Blaine’s back, tongue sliding against Blaine’s and its frantic and messy and uncoordinated but to Blaine it’s  _perfect_.  
  
It’s somewhere around when Kurt moves back to his neck, breath hot on his skin that Blaine gather up the courage. Well, it’s not so much courage as it is Blaine’s mind shutting off, overcome with love and lust and what even is the difference anymore and his hand is sliding down, grazing over Kurt’s stomach, his hipbones, rough denim.  
  
Kurt inhales sharply, fingers digging into Blaine’s back and hips giving an involuntary thrust as Blaine’s hand goes lower than it has before. He can feel Kurt, hard and right  _there_ , and he lets his thumb trail down the fabric experimentally before pressing his palm against him firmly. Kurt’s hips jerk forward and he lets out a whine, face burrowing into the crook of Blaine’s neck.  
  
And Blaine feels a wave of guilt wash through him because it’s  _his_  fault Kurt hasn’t been touched like this in so long. It’s  _his_ fault Kurt can’t keep from rutting against him like he can’t remember what this feels like. It’s guilt, and nervousness, and so familiar from nights before, coursing through him and freezing his movements until Kurt draws away and it’s all over.  
  
But not tonight.  
  
“You’re perfect,” Kurt says like he knows what Blaine’s thinking, voice raspier than normal and,  _god,_  Blaine’s doing that to him and everything is forgotten except Kurt, and how much he  _wants_.  
  
“I want you,” Blaine knows it’s not much more than a whisper, but Kurt whimpers and he knows he heard. “I want you. Now.”  
  
And then Kurt’s fumbling with his pants, cursing the zipper that always sticks, and the way the fabric seems to be glued to his legs. It’s an amusing sight, and Blaine has to bite his lip to keep from laughing as Kurt finally rids himself of the offending clothing and just like that he’s naked. He’s naked and achingly hard and Blaine feels embarrassment creep into his cheeks at his own lack of arousal.  
  
It’s not that he’s not turned on; Blaine’s pretty sure he’s never been so turned on in his life. It’s more that somewhere between his brain and his cock the message is getting lost, or maybe it isn’t strong enough to make it there in the first place. Either way, Blaine’s scared Kurt will take it personally and Blaine just wishes he could be like  _before_ , and sex isn’t this huge ordeal. This challenge that he isn’t sure he can win.  
  
But then Kurt’s helping him to glide down, off the pillows and onto his back, making sure he’s comfortable without saying anything. His fingers slide under the elastic of Blaine’s sweatpants, pausing, eyes meeting Blaine’s. Blaine nods.  _It’s ok_. Kurt’s just as nervous as Blaine is, he can see it in the slight lift of Kurt’s eyebrows, the way his hands falter at Blaine’s waistband. It’s not like Blaine hasn’t been naked around Kurt, even after his injury, but this is so, so different. This isn’t Kurt helping Blaine with his shower, or getting dressed, or anything else he couldn’t do for himself. This is so much more. This is about  _them._  Nothing else.  
  
Blaine’s limbs are still too stiff to offer much help as Kurt slowly pulls Blaine’s pants over his hips and down his legs, skin tingling where his fingers had been. And then Blaine feels exposed and embarrassed because Kurt’s  _looking_ at him.  
  
“I don’t-” Blaine starts, but is quieted by Kurt’s finger on his lips, replaced seconds later by soft lips.  
  
“I know,” Kurt breathes, and suddenly Blaine can’t because Kurt’s wrapping him in his hand and gives him a firm stroke. It’s slow, everything muffled around the edges, but Blaine expects that’s just how things are now. Nothing is as sharp, as quick, as intense as  _before_ , but Kurt is patient and keeps going until Blaine responds and he feels heat beginning to pool low in his belly.  
  
“Ready?” The word is excited, but cautious, allowing Blaine an out if he needs. But Blaine’s pretty sure an out is the last thing he needs so he nods, swallowing thickly, mouth suddenly gone dry. Kurt stretches out, inching his fingers forward until he snatches up the lube from the bedside table with a hum of success.   
  
“Kurt,” Blaine mutters, feeling slightly ashamed but unable to ignore the ache growing in his back any longer. “I think I need…something. For my back.”  
  
Kurt nods, but he doesn’t voice the concern so evident in his eyes and Blaine is thankful.  
  
“Would…a pillow?” Kurt asks, eyes fixing on the only thing on the bed. And as Kurt helps Blaine, lifts his hips to arrange the pillow under him, the ache and strain absorbed into the synthetic cotton, Blaine finally feels  _right_. He doesn’t even remember why he felt nervous to begin with because this is  _Kurt_ , and things were never supposed to go any other way. No matter how much help he needs, how much he can or can’t do. No  matter if this works or not, Kurt will make this easy for him, make it okay.  
  
 He hears the click of the bottle of lube snapping open, Kurt methodically coating his fingers, lips meeting Blaine’s, closed mouth and soft, before he lets his finger trace down, smoothing over sensitive skin. And then he’s pressing in and Blaine’s breath catches at the sensation, the stretch after going so long without. Kurt waits a moment, letting Blaine breathe before slowly, carefully, adding another. Blaine lets his eyes close, drawing in a deep breath as he gets used to the feeling, so familiar and yet so  _not_. It’s different, slightly subdued in a way he doesn’t remember, the aching need he used to feel no longer present. After a silent moment Kurt scissors his fingers and Blaine can’t help but fist at the sheets under him.  
  
“Is this okay?” Kurt’s gentle voice draws Blaine’s eyes open; he’s looking at him, examining his face with concern. Blaine nods.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, surprised at how hoarse his voice is. Kurt smiles, pressing a kiss to Blaine’s stomach, right to the side of his bellybutton as he crooks his fingers, searching for  _that_.  
  
A moan escapes Blaine before he even realizes it’s his, he can feel the sweat already beginning to bead on his forehead as Kurt strokes over his prostate, a jolt of pleasure shooting through him. He presses back against Kurt’s fingers, wanting, _craving_  more because, god, it’s been so  _long_. So long since he’s felt  _this_ , this intensity, this closeness, this giving himself over to Kurt. It’s a different sort of vulnerability than the one he’s experienced for the last year and a half; it’s open, it’s willing, it’s equal.  
  
Kurt’s mouth is back on his skin, pressing soft, warm kisses to his stomach, up his chest, tongue teasing lightly at one of his nipples. Blaine arches into him, the stiffness in his limbs beginning to melt away with the speeding of his heart. Kurt’s fingers slow slightly as his lips latch Blaine’s nipple, a light suck and Blaine is drawing in a shaky breath and Kurt’s not going fast enough for his broken mind to hold onto the pleasure.  
  
“Kurt,” he manages, voice slightly choked and Kurt looks up, immediately concerned. “More…please. I’m going to…lose it.”  
  
Kurt nods, understanding, and Blaine feels the slight burn as a third finger is added, opening and stretching and stroking over that spot that makes his blood feel hot, electric. And then emptiness, a soft noise swallowed in Blaine’s throat at the change in sensation, interrupted only by the crinkle of a condom wrapper, the familiar click of the bottle of lube.  
  
And then he’s right there, eyes meeting Blaine’s briefly before  lining himself up, easing slowly into Blaine. Blaine tenses for  a moment, and Kurt stops, letting him adjust before pressing in again, a slow centimeter crawl inside. Blaine’s breathing hard and he can see the sweat on Kurt that matches his own, cheeks flushing a deep red, eyes dark with lust and longing.  
  
“Blaine.” The name is barely a breathy whisper and Kurt’s lips are suddenly on his, tongue working its way inside, and Blaine’s beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed but this time it’s in a good way. Kurt is mostly still, letting Blaine get used to the sensation until Blaine thinks he might go crazy if something, anything, doesn’t happen.  
  
“Move,” Blaine grunts, lips clinging to Kurt’s, reluctant to let go. And then Kurt’s pulling away, pulling back and Blaine can feel the slow drag inside him, filling him, holding him together, keeping him  _here_. Kurt moves, pressing in and out, slow at first, giving Blaine a chance to object, to tell him if it’s too much, then faster, more urgent. Blaine can see the change in Kurt, his own need, want, desire taking over, forcing choked whines from his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing under the pale skin as he tries to swallow the noises, and god, Blaine just wants to touch, to feel, to be.  
  
Sweat slicks their bodies, damp hair clinging to foreheads, hearts pounding too fast. Kurt’s stomach drags over Blaine’s cock, trapped between their bodies and Blaine can feel the heat coiling low in his belly and he forgets everything. Everything except Kurt, and the way he is nuzzling against his shoulder, all lips and tongue and nipping teeth, needy whimpers. He slides his hands up, trailing over Kurt’s legs until he’s gripping his ass, and if his muscles ache or his fingers are stiff he doesn’t notice because all he wants is more, so he pulls Kurt into him with more force, pushing back and arching up and everything is building, building. Everything is too sharp and too muffled at the same time, like he can see it but it’s just beyond his reach, and he’s so close but it’s not enough and he’s going everywhere but nowhere.  
  
A loud moan shatters the rhythm and he feels Kurt jerk into him sharply before shuddering, forehead falling hard against Blaine as his orgasm courses through him. Blaine strokes a hand up his side and down his back as Kurt sags into him, breaths still coming hard and fast as the aftershocks vibrate through his skin and Blaine can’t imagine ever seeing someone more beautiful. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, not quite focusing properly as he looks up at Blaine, mouth curling into a relaxed smile, finger reaching to trace the curve of Blaine’s jaw.  
  
“Was that okay?” Kurt asks, voice heavy and tired. Blaine tilts his face to capture Kurt’s lips with his own.  
  
“More than okay,” he breathes his reply and Kurt smiles before pulling away with and frowning.  
  
“Oh,” he says, eyes moving down Blaine’s body. He’s pulling out of Blaine and Blaine feels strangely empty at the loss; a small part of him wishes it would have lasted longer, that they could have stayed together longer. But Kurt disposes of the condom discretely and he’s back, pressing gentle kisses down Blaine’s chest, over his stomach, to the sensitive skin stretched over his hipbones. A hand skims over his inner thigh and wraps around the base of his cock. Kurt’s tongue is warm, smooth, leaving a cooling trail as he slides over Blaine’s cock, circling the head. And then he’s sinking down, taking him in his mouth, tongue flattening across the base.  
  
It sweeps through him like a wave, blood boiling and heart pounding and Blaine can’t even think to be embarrassed by the noises that escape his throat as Kurt bobs down, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing. His hips give an involuntary jerk and he runs his fingers through Kurt’s damp hair. Kurt hums in satisfaction and sinks further and it’s all Blaine can do to not shout at the pressure that’s building, tightening low in his stomach. He bites his lip against a choked whimper, hands moving to grab blindly at the sheets beneath him as Kurt swallows him down, a guttural moan vibrating through Blaine and he knows  he’s not going to last.  
  
“Kurt,” he manages, voice small and choked. The cool air as Kurt pulls off makes Blaine gasp in contrast to the heat of before and Kurt’s hand is stroking up, thumb teasing at the head before moving back down with a twist and that’s all it takes. It rolls through him with a moan, exploding behind his eyes, nerve endings firing, and for a moment his entire body is consumed.  
  
It feels like hours but really it’s just seconds, limbs tingling, the aftershocks of pleasure jolting through him, slowly fading down to nothing and Blaine feels himself sinking, melting into the bed below him. He feels detached, body more relaxed than he remembers feeling in a long time, a rag doll with loose cotton instead of bones.  
  
Something wet and cool brings him back and he blinks his eyes open, watching with dreamy interest as Kurt smoothes a damp washcloth over his belly, washing him clean. He smiles when he sees Blaine looking at him, leaning forward to press against Blaine’s lips, lingering, noses connecting in an Eskimo kiss even after their lips have parted. Kurt lets out a small laugh, breathy and tired and happy and that’s all Blaine needs. They don’t say anything, they don’t need to. Kurt helps Blaine into his pajamas, rearranges the pillows and crawls in beside him.  
  
This time Blaine pulls Kurt into him, Kurt’s back warm against his chest, heart still beating faster than normal, and Blaine lets his nose tickle the hairs at the back of his neck, eyes fluttering shut. They’ve beaten this. They both know. It doesn’t matter how much work they still have in front of them. It doesn’t matter that Blaine still can’t walk long distances, forgets to put on both socks in the morning, struggles with the simplest math problems. It doesn’t matter that Kurt still puts in extra hours to pay the medical bills, has nightmares about the attack, can’t walk outside at night without having a panic attack. None of this matters, because in the end, it’s not about that.  
  
It’s about them.


	11. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine’s close to cracking, to shattering, everything wound up so tight and so strong and yet so breakable. The cracks have already formed and now he’s just waiting for the right push, the careless knock that will shatter everything they’ve worked at putting back together.

_January 23rd, 2019_

Kurt’s just returned from a quick lunch break, a bagel balancing precariously on top of his coffee, when he gets the call. Coffee sloshes over his hand and he yelps, wiping it quickly on his jacket as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. A picture of Blaine flashes on his screen, the word  _home_  at the top and he feels a nervous jolt in his stomach, but doesn’t let himself panic yet. Sometimes Olivia or Janessa call because the dryer quit working  _again_ , or they can’t find the casserole pan, or there’s a cute stray dog outside and what do they do. Nothing to get alarmed about.

“Hello?”

“Kurt?” Olivia’s voice sounds thin, shaken.

“What’s going on? Is everything all right?” His words are rushed, the burn on his hand completely forgotten.

“I think you should come home.”

Now Kurt lets himself begin to panic. His heart races and he’s already fumbling for his keys, shoving papers in satchel, turning off his computer.

“Why? What happened? Is Blaine okay?”

“He… he’s not sick. He just… I think he needs you right now.” There’s a tone to Olivia’s voice that Kurt doesn’t recognize, and it scares him.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay? Tell Blaine I’m on my way.”

Olivia assures him she will, thanks him, and hangs up. Kurt feels strange, like he’s floating, detached, going through the motions of grabbing his coat, telling his boss why he’s leaving, without any conscious effort. She understands, had a brother with cancer so understands family emergencies, and Kurt would be mentally praising her if he wasn’t so focused on getting home, on Blaine, on what could be wrong.

He’s been called home before; if Blaine has a particularly bad seizure, when he had to be taken to the hospital. But Olivia said that he wasn’t sick. That he needs  _him_. His mind is racing as to what that could possibly mean, silently cursing himself for not getting more information out of Olivia when she was on the phone. He briefly debates calling her back, but he’s already starting the car and Olivia had seemed anxious to get off the phone, to get back to Blaine.

The drive takes forty-five minutes and Kurt is thankful that it’s the middle of the day and the roads aren’t icy because he’s not sure his nerves could last much longer. Blaine’s been getting better, hasn’t been as depressed, and his motor skills are improving significantly. He doesn’t understand what could have happened, what could be still happening, to make Olivia call him home like this.

The house is silent when he enters and he toes off his shoes, making his way nervously into the living room. Blaine is sitting on the couch, Olivia on the ground beside him, a hand on his knee, and everything about this screams that something is  _wrong_. The flowers that used to sit beside the couch are gone, the carpet dark where it’s obvious they had fallen, and the air thick with tension. Olivia stands when Kurt enters, but Blaine doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look up to acknowledge him.

“What’s going on?” Kurt asks, unable to decipher anything from the scene before him. Olivia puts her hand on his arm, eyes motioning for the kitchen and Kurt follows her. It’s then that he notices, white gauze taped to the back of Olivia’s hand.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Kurt asks the moment they’re in the kitchen, near the pantry, where they’re mostly out of earshot of Blaine. Olivia looks frazzled, eyes wide and hair slightly askew, and Kurt feels worry churning his stomach.

“He… I just…” Olivia takes a deep breath and Kurt can see her hands are shaking. “He wanted to look at his music books, the ones in your office. I asked him if he was sure, I mean, we already knew he can’t read music anymore but… he really wanted to and I think it just… it finally hit him, you know? That he can’t read it and he… I’ve never seen him like this…”

She trails off for a moment, obviously upset, and Kurt can’t seem to stop the frantic pounding of his heart.

“It’s okay, Olivia,” he tries to reassure, laying a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “Just tell me what happened.”

She reaches up to wipe her eyes, visibly steeling herself.

“He got so upset, I didn’t know what to do. I thought… he was going to hyperventilate or work himself into a seizure and I tried to calm him down but he wouldn’t listen to me and he kept like… grunting and spasming, so I went to get him his baclofen, to relax him, and when I came back he had broken the vase and was… pulling out his hair.”

She pauses, collects herself. Kurt’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“I tried to get him to stop, I grabbed his hand and he just  _latched_  on and…”

She lifts her hand, peels back the gauze and Kurt feels his breath catch in his throat. Two jagged lines cut across the back of her hand, red and uneven.

“He didn’t know,” she says quickly. “I don’t think he was even really aware of what was going on. But he saw it and he just… locked down. He scratched his own arms but I can’t get him to let go, and he won’t look at me or do  _anything_  and I don’t know what to do and maybe… I thought maybe he’d listen to you.”

Kurt takes a moment to breathe, to process everything Olivia just said. He’s learned through the past year that no matter what, no matter how hard things are, or how upset Blaine is, or how sad he is, he needs to stay strong. Needs to push his own emotions aside because right now, Blaine’s are more important.

Blaine’s always been the most important.

“Are you okay?” he asks, wanting to get out to Blaine but earnestly worried for Olivia as well. She nods, offering him a small smile.

“I’m fine, just worried.”

Kurt nods. They’re both on the same page. He turns and Olivia follows him out of the kitchen, steps slow and cautious.

“Blaine?” Kurt says softly, kneeling in front of him. Blaine’s whole posture is  _tense_ , his arms vibrating with strain, his eyes looking through Kurt, unseeing. His fingers are digging into his arms and Kurt winces at the harsh red lines. He thought they were past this. Kurt puts his hands on Blaine’s knees, wary and uncertain as to how Blaine will react. He doesn’t. Doesn’t do anything, just stays completely still, a life-size statue.

“Hey, Blaine? Can you look at me?” He rubs his thumbs in soothing circles on Blaine’s legs, trying to meet his gaze, and failing. He slides his hands up to Blaine’s arms, tries to loosen Blaine’s fingers but his grip is like iron, immovable. So he strokes across Blaine’s knuckles, up to the bones of his wrist before pulling himself up onto the couch. The dip when he sits causes Blaine to shift and Kurt’s glad to know his fiancé hasn’t actually turned into stone. He wraps an arm around Blaine’s back, gently tugs until Blaine is forced to rest against him, lets his hand trace over the tense muscles.

“Relax, Blaine. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Kurt keeps his voice soft and steady, even though he feels like trembling as much as Blaine is. Olivia sits back on the floor, far enough to give them space but close enough that she can offer help if needed.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, pressing his cheek to Blaine’s curls. “I know it’s hard right now. You’re angry and frustrated but it’s okay. It’s okay to feel like this, Blaine, we understand and we want to help you through it, but you can’t lock down like this.”

He can feel the way Blaine’s breathing has increased, ragged as if he’s on the cusp of tears, and Kurt knows he’s hearing his words.

“Can you come back to me? I want to talk to you, Blaine.”

There’s silence and Kurt lets it hang there, stroking Blaine’s back, giving Blaine a moment. He’s learned patience over the past year, that things don’t always happen as quickly as he would like, and Blaine needs more time then he used to.

“Do you remember that time we broke up in college?” Kurt says eventually, his voice sounding strange after the quiet. “It didn’t even last a month before we both realized how stupid we were being.” Kurt gives a chuckle at the memory, presses his cheek to Blaine’s hair. “But during that month I didn’t listen to my music once. I almost deleted my iTunes, before Rachel saved it on her external. I  _couldn’t_  listen to it, because it reminded me of you. Every song made me remember how excited you would get, how you would sing along even if you didn’t know the words, how you could figure everything out how to play everything on the piano without even trying.”

Pause.

“Music  _is_  you, Blaine. It’s inside of you and all around you and I know you probably want to roll your eyes at me, but it’s true. This is just a setback but we’ll get through it, okay? I know you. You’ve worked so hard already, and I know you won’t give up. Not on this.”

He can feel Blaine begin to loosen, just a bit, but it’s enough for Kurt to slide his hands under Blaine’s and pry his fingers from his arms. Blood wells in tiny crescent moons and Olivia gets up, disappears. Kurt twines his fingers through Blaine’s and he feels Blaine twitch, shudder. When Olivia returns she takes his arms, her grip gentle, and meticulously cleans the tiny cuts, dabs on some bacitracin and wraps them with gauze. Blaine’s close to cracking, to shattering, everything wound up so tight and so strong and yet so breakable. The cracks have already formed and now he’s just waiting for the right push, the careless knock that will shatter everything they’ve worked at putting back together. Kurt can feel it in the way his muscles are trembling, the way he seems so close and simultaneously so far away.

“Do you still have the baclofen?” he questions Olivia, knowing nothing is going to happen unless Blaine relaxes. She nods, vanishes into the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. The med is in a small cup on the coffee table, and Olivia drops it into his outstretched hand.

“Blaine, I need you to take this for me, okay? Can you do that?” Blaine doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t resist when Kurt edges the pill past his lips, teeth unclenching when Kurt strokes gently at his jaw. He swallows the water dutifully and Kurt wonders if he actually wants to cooperate, or if he’s just tired of resisting. They sit for a few minutes, waiting, and Kurt can tell the moment the muscle relaxant starts to take effect, the tension leaking out of Blaine’s muscles, his posture less rigid, his breaths becoming deeper.

“-m sorry.” The words are mumbled, almost inaudible, but Kurt’s heart leaps all the same.

“No, no, Blaine, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Kurt soothes, smoothing his palm across Blaine’s back.

“…livia.” His speech is slurred with the medication, eyes blinking heavily. Olivia reaches to grip Blaine’s knee.

“I’m fine, Blaine, okay? You didn’t hurt me.” It’s a lie, and Kurt knows it, but he smiles at her in thanks.

“-m sorry,” Blaine murmurs again, sounding sleepy. The carisoprodol always makes Blaine drowsy and Kurt knows Blaine needs to sleep before they can make any real progress.

“Let’s take a nap, and we’ll talk when we wake up, all right?” Blaine gives a small nod and Kurt presses a quick kiss to the top of his head before standing, hand still on Blaine’s shoulder to keep him steady. Blaine looks exhausted, and not just physically; Kurt can see it in his eyes, in the lines around his mouth, like he’s tired of trying so hard and never meeting his old standards. Blaine has always set the bar high, as long as Kurt can remember, and now… he judges himself harder than anyone. And Kurt knows it’s wearing him thin. It’s not surprising he finally broke down.

Olivia secures Blaine’s other side and they help him stand, his legs shaky from the med or from being tensed for so long, Kurt isn’t sure, but he leans heavily on them for the few steps to his chair. Olivia hurries ahead, the covers pulled back and ready by the time they get in the room. Blaine is hoisted into bed, eyes grazing over them without really seeing. Kurt smiles, rubs a thumb over his temple and Blaine’s eyes drift shut, face nuzzling ever so slightly into the pillow. With a kiss to the forehead Kurt rises, casts a lingering look back at Blaine, lips already parted with sleep, and leaves.

Olivia’s straightening up the living room when Kurt comes back out, lowering himself onto the couch with a sigh.

“He’ll sleep for a while now, that med really knocks him out.”

Olivia nods, refolds the blanket she’s already folded.

“How’s your hand?”

She looks up, surprised, like she’d completely forgotten about it. She probably has, Kurt figures.

“Oh, it’s fine. Really. Just a scratch.” She clasps her hands behind her back self-consciously.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt offers anyways, not really sure what he’s apologizing for. Or who he’s apologizing to. To Olivia, to himself, to Blaine who never deserved any of this. Olivia just shakes her head.

“Hey now, if Blaine can’t apologize, neither can you.” She takes a seat next to Kurt and offers a smile. Kurt scrubs his face with his hand.

“I know. I just feel like it needs to be said.”

Olivia looks sympathetic. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kurt is silent for a moment, thinking. “I just feel so… lost sometimes. Am I even doing the right thing? I try and do everything they tell us to, but sometimes it seems like every step forward Blaine takes, we take another step back.”

He breathes.

“It’s just… it hurts to see him like this. I want him to get better. I want him to see how much better he  _is_  getting.”

Olivia’s hand rests on his arm, reassuring.

“You can’t fix him, as much as you want to. You just have to help him do the best he can.”

“I know, I just wish I could. He’s… just… he’s the most amazing person I know. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“No one does.” Olivia gives his arm a squeeze. “Days like today are scary and sometimes it does seem like nothings getting better, but I’ve always found that the bad days stick in your mind more than the good ones. Yeah, today sucked. But remember how Blaine wanted to surprise you at work last week? He went out in public to bring you lunch. And have you noticed that he never wants to use his chair anymore? He wants to walk everywhere, just so he can get better at it. He refuses to let me help him get dressed or brush his teeth anymore, even though it would be so much easier and faster for him if I did. He really is doing so well, even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

Kurt chuckles, can’t help it. “That would explain why his shirts are always inside out lately.”

Olivia’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. “He wonders when you’re going to snap and burn all his sweatpants.”

Kurt lets out a laugh. “They are rather shapeless, but excusable given the circumstance.” He frowns. “Really though, you think he’s doing better? Does he seem… happier?”

“You make him happy, Kurt. You should see the way his eyes light up when he hears you pull into the driveway.” She smiles at him earnestly. “There will always be tough days, but it’s getting better., Sometimes it’s just hard to see.”

And suddenly, the day doesn’t seem so terrible anymore. Things might be hard right now, but Kurt knows they’ll get through it, they’ve gotten through bad days before, and they’ll come out stronger. They always do. Kurt wraps Olivia in a quick hug and she lets out a surprised squeal.

“Thank you. For everything. I can’t imagine doing any of this without you girls.” Olivia just blushes, squeezes him back.

“You can head home, if you like,” Kurt says, letting her go. “Blaine will sleep for a while and I can do my work here.”

Olivia thanks him, gathers her things.

“Dinner is in the fridge, it just needs to be warmed and softened,” Olivia informs as she pulls on her jacket. “And Kurt… you’re doing great. Don’t worry.”

And with that she’s gone, replaced by the cold wave of air from outside.

Kurt smiles, shakes his head, and stands up. He needs to find his phone.

-

Blaine doesn’t wake up until late afternoon. Kurt’s sitting next to him, leg lined up against his back, papers spread out on the bed beside him, only the sound of his pencil scratching out corrections filling the room. Blaine stirs, groans. Kurt glances down at him and smiles, strokes his thumb against his shoulder as Blaine blinks his eyes open with a yawn.

“Hello sleeping beauty,” Kurt says, voice soft and Blaine flops onto his back, glancing up at Kurt through half lidded eyes. Kurt suspects it will take him awhile to fully wake up, considering how deeply he had been sleeping.

“How do you feel?”

Blaine blinks a few times, wets his lips with his tongue. He coughs and rubs his eyes.

“Tired,” he mumbles after a moment, frowning at window, the sunset painting their room with orange, clearly disoriented.

“Mmm, you had your muscle relaxant. It’s almost six,” Kurt explains. Blaine grows still, eyes squeezing shut with a groan as the day comes back to him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Kurt says, stroking his fingers through Blaine’s hair. Blaine rolls towards him; Kurt throws his work with the rest of the papers on the bed and pulls Blaine’s head onto his lap. He massages his scalp, careful to avoid the tender scars, aiming for the spots he knows help Blaine to relax. The last thing Blaine needs is to get anxious and upset again.

They sit like that for a while, Kurt running his fingers over Blaine’s scalp, Blaine’s breath warming Kurt’s leg. The room gets slowly darker as the sun sets, and Kurt wonders if Blaine’s fallen back asleep, until he feels fingers tracing down the stripes of his pants.

“You’re in my pajamas,” Blaine remarks softly and Kurt smiles.

“I am allowed to relax in comfort, and yours are far superior in that aspect.” It’s mostly a lie. Blaine’s clothes  _are_  more comfortable, but really, Kurt just wants to feel closer to Blaine, to wrap himself up in Blaine, however he can. Blaine shifts, stills his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and Kurt continues his even strokes through Blaine’s hair, letting him gather his words. “I didn’t… didn’t mean to get like… that.”

“I know.” Kurt keeps his tone soft, understanding

“It’s just… I feel… it’s my whole life and I… can’t even  _do_ it.” His words are choppy, but he’s trying so  _hard_  to express how he feels and Kurt thinks he understands. Everything he’s done, his work at the center, the private lessons, the volunteering, it’s all revolved around his music, and now that’s been ripped away from him. He doesn’t have the motor skills to play anything, doesn’t have the vocal control to sing, can’t even read music. It’s all  _gone_  and he’s just now realizing the enormity of it. Kurt doesn’t reassure him, doesn’t want to offer false promise because yes, there is a chance Blaine will never get it back, and Blaine knows it. And the last thing he wants is for Kurt to lie to him. So he just strokes through Blaine’s hair, traces down his neck, lets Blaine sort through his thoughts for a moment before speaking.

“I called Doctor Ross today. She has a friend who wants to meet with you during your therapy, if it’s all right with you.”

Blaine twists his neck, trying to look up at Kurt questioningly.

“She’s a music therapist. She can help you, with reading and playing music, if you want.”

There’s silence and for a moment Kurt worries that maybe it’s too much, maybe Blaine’s overwhelmed and this isn’t what he needs right now. Maybe Kurt screwed up.

“Blaine?” Kurt leans forward, trying to see Blaine’s face. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” It’s just one word, but the  _emotion_  in Blaine’s voice, they way it sounds thin, wavering at the end, makes Kurt’s heart swell and shatter at the same time. Blaine wants to, he wants to learn, to get back everything he lost. But at the same time, he’s scared. Scared that he won’t be able to, that he’s setting himself up for more failure, more disappointment. He’s more frightened of what he  _can’t_  do than what he can. Kurt bends down, touches a kiss to Blaine’s temple. Blaine chooses that moment to move, head twisting and forehead colliding with Kurt’s nose. Kurt jerks back and Blaine’s eyes widen in panic, arms scrambling to push himself up. Kurt’s covering his face with his hand and Blaine looks so worried and Kurt _giggles_.

Confusion flashes Blaine’s face, fading to relief as he realizes Kurt’s laughing, the corners of his lips twitching into the hint of a smile. Kurt pulls Blaine into his chest and Blaine sinks against him, unresisting as he kisses the slight red mark on Blaine’s forehead, where it met Kurt’s nose.

There’s so much Kurt could say, in this moment. He could tell Blaine everything will be okay, that he loves him whether he can read music or not. He could remind Blaine of how far he’s come, how many accomplishments he’s made. He could go on and on for hours about how proud he is, about how his heart  _swells_  when he wakes up with Blaine next to him every morning.

But sometimes Blaine just needs to feel like things are  _normal_. To know that despite everything changing, nothing has actually changed. So he strokes his thumb down Blaine’s arm, rests his head against Blaine’s.

“It’s a good night for hot chocolate, don’t you think?” Kurt asks after a moment.

Blaine smiles. “Perfect.”


	12. Let Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt needs him. Kurt needs him, Kurt who's spend so long looking after Blaine, after his every need. Kurt deserves someone who can help him, look after him when he's sick; Blaine is still damaged, his hands shaky, thoughts half-formed, and it scares him. Scares him that he won't know what to do, that even if he does, he won't be able to do it.

_December 17 th, 2019_   
  


Blaine wakes up to tears. At first he thinks he’s dreaming, everything is still slightly hazy at the edges, the silver moonlight streaming through with window giving everything an old cinema feel. Blinking awake, he tries desperately to clear the fog from his mind, rubbing his eyes and turning his head to the side. Kurt is huddled in a ball beside him, face twisted and cheeks damp with tears. Soft whimpers, the ones that pierced Blaine’s dreams and roused him from his sleep, escape Kurt’s lips and Blaine’s heart skips an uncomfortable beat.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, reaching to rest a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt flinches away with a tiny shout, curls tighter into himself, sobs wracking his body.  It’s not hard to guess what dream Kurt is lost in.

“Kurt, hey, it’s okay,” Blaine says, louder, scooting closer to Kurt. He keeps his hand steady when Kurt tries to pull away, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his arm. But Kurt is too wrapped up in his terror to notice, words of helpless,  _desperate_ protest gasping out between sobs.

“Wake up, it’s just a dream, you’re okay.” Blaine gives Kurt a gentle shake and Kurt reaches for him, wraps a fist in Blaine’s shirt. Blaine can see Kurt’s eyes moving wildly behind his eyelids, lips trembling, face an eerie white in the moonlight.

“Please, wake up,” Blaine pleads with another shake. “Kurt, you’re dreaming, wake up.  _Please_.” He feels himself growing desperate, his desire, his need to help Kurt overwhelming. Kurt looks so distressed and Blaine can’t stand the glistening tears on his cheeks, the desperate whimpers escaping his lips. But Kurt doesn’t wake up, instead says Blaine’s name with a cry, pulls roughly against his shirt as he twitches, leg kicking out to collide harshly with Blaine’s.

“Ow,” Blaine exclaims, ignoring the force behind Kurt’s kick and focusing solely on waking him up, to save him from the terror he’s stuck in. Kurt gives a shout when Blaine pinches him, eyes snapping open and darting around frantically and Blaine immediately smoothes his hand over Kurt’s arm.

“Kurt, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Blaine soothes as fresh tears spill from Kurt’s eyes.

“Blaine,” he chokes, eyes full of fear and confusion as they roam over Blaine’s face. “They…they were hurting you and I couldn’t…”

Blaine pulls Kurt onto his chest, blinking back his own tears and Kurt immediately clings to him, presses against him, as if reassuring himself the he’s really here.

“It was just a dream, I’m okay.” Kurt sniffs and Blaine can feel his shirt growing damp. “I’m okay, Kurt, I promise.”

“I was so scared,” Kurt murmurs. “I couldn’t save you.”

“Shh, it was just a dream. I’m right here.” Blaine runs a hand through Kurt’s hair, frowns, rests it against his forehead. Kurt feels warm, flushed, shivers against him.

“You’re not hurt?” Kurt asks, craning his neck to look up at Blaine, eyes wide and voice so thin with concern that Blaine is struck with how young he looks right now. Vulnerable.

“No, I’m not hurt. You just had a bad dream, okay?” Blaine rubs soothingly down Kurt’s back and feels Kurt begin to loosen, relax. His breath hitches.

“But…you were in the hospital.” Kurt sounds so distressed, clinging to Blaine so tightly that Blaine has to bite his lip, take a deep breath to keep his voice steady.

“I was, but not anymore. You helped me get better, remember?” Blaine brings his hand up to brush over Kurt’s cheek, wiping away his tears. Kurt gives a small whine, presses against Blaine’s hand and Blaine feels himself becoming legitimately _worried_. Kurt’s never been so disoriented, so confused after a nightmare. He’s had them before, has had them with regularity since the attack. Posttraumatic stress disorder. Or so Kurt’s therapist calls it. Blaine remembers Janessa and Olivia explaining it to him, their hands warm in his, anchoring him. Remembers the frustration he felt, still feels, at wanting to do something, anything, to  _help_ , and not being able to. Remembers the panic attacks, Kurt becoming so shaken and upset that all he can do is cry and cling to Blaine, Blaine who can’t do anything. Blaine who can barely help himself, who has no idea how to help Kurt. He feels so  _useless_. So he just lets Kurt hold onto him, cry on his shoulder until he wipes his eyes, straightens his clothes, and moves on with his day.

But he pushes these thoughts aside because Kurt’s crying in his arms, and Blaine is going to do whatever he can to make it better.

“Everything’s okay Kurt, I promise. I’m right here.” He keeps his voice soft, his hand stroking a rhythmic pattern on Kurt’s back. Kurt nuzzles into his chest, the trembling in his limbs slowly stilling.

“It seemed so real,” he whispers, sounds so  _sad_. Blaine rests his cheek against Kurt’s bed-rustled hair.

“I know,” Blaine says, but he really doesn’t, and he tries to ignore the ache of how unfair it is. Kurt remembers every moment, every detail of  _that_  night, and Blaine…he doesn’t remember any of it. Doesn’t even remember most of the month before the attack, barely remembers his stay in the hospital. He’s tried, wracking his brain for hours for something, _anything_ , so Kurt doesn’t have to go through this alone. But there’s nothing.

“You’re safe now, it’s okay.”

Kurt holds Blaine tighter, a twinge of worry in Blaine’s gut at how warm Kurt feels.

“I miss your voice,” Kurt whispers into his chest, traces lazy circles with the hand that isn’t clinging to him. “Can you sing to me?”

Blaine blinks, surprised. He’s been singing a lot, lately, working with both his speech therapist and a vocal coach to regain control of his voice. He would think Kurt would complain about hearing too  _much_  of his voice lately, but he’s not exactly certain Kurt’s all here right now.

“Please?” Kurt asks, and he sounds so close to breaking that Blaine’s vision blurs with his own tears. But he bites them back and starts humming, the first tune that comes to his head, his voice a little rough with the remnants of sleep.

“… _swingin’ sweet songs of melodies pure and true, sayin’, this is my message to you-ou-ou…_ ” Blaine sings softly, stroking circles on Kurt’s back with his thumb. “ _Singin’ don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing gonna be all right…_ ”

He’s about the repeat to chorus when Kurt looks up at him, eyes squinted and slightly judgmental.

“Bob Marley?”

Blaine shrugs. “What?”

“Isn’t that a little…clichéd?” Kurt asks, and Blaine can’t help but grin.

“Is it? I wouldn’t know…brain damage, remember?” He taps the side of his head and Kurt gives a small whimper before promptly bursting back into tears, sobs shaking through him as he drops his head back onto Blaine’s chest, clutching him tightly.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay Kurt, it’s a joke,” Blaine tries to soothe, immediately feeling guilty. Perhaps it’s still too soon for brain damage jokes. Part of him suspects it will always be too soon for brain damage jokes with Kurt. “I’m sorry, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m alright.”

“It’s just,” Kurt’s voice hitches, “I just want you to be okay because I love you and you deserve so much.”

Blaine smiles at Kurt’s rushed words, plants a kiss in his hair. “So do you. And don’t worry about me, okay? I’m fine, I promise. You though, need to sleep.”

Kurt gives a small nod, eyes fluttering shut and Blaine suspects he’s too tired to protest. Blaine pulls the covers back to Kurt’s shoulders, thumb keeping up its gentle circles on Kurt’s back.

“ _Singin’ don’t worry ‘bout a thing, ‘cause every little thing gonna be all right_.”

Kurt chuckles against him, muffled and sleepy, but Blaine considers it a success and he hums softly until Kurt’s breaths deepen, body relaxing completely against Blaine’s. Only when Blaine is certain Kurt isn’t going to slip back into another nightmare, does he allow himself to follow.

-

The next time Blaine wakes up he’s alone. It’s still dark outside, a sleepy glance at the clock informing that it’s barely five-thirty, a good half an hour before Kurt usually gets up. Blaine frowns at the rumpled sheets beside him, tangled as if pushed away in a hurry. An uncomfortable mix of worry and confusion twists at his stomach, merging with sympathy as the sound of retching echoes from the bathroom. He remembers how warm Kurt felt last night, how confused and disoriented he had been and it’s suddenly so obvious. Kurt’s been pushing himself too hard, running himself ragged at work, not sleeping well at nights, and Blaine supposes it was only inevitable.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself up and closing his eyes as he waits for the rush of vertigo to pass. When the world stops tilting he reaches for his walker, the handles soft and grooved from his fingers (his physical therapist says soon he’ll be able to get by with just a cane for balance and Kurt has already made it his mission to find the most “vintage-chic” cane in existence) and makes his way towards the sliver of yellow light escaping under the bathroom door. He gives a short knock before pushing the door open and shuffling inside, leaving his walker outside and leaning on the counter for support.

Kurt is kneeling in front of the toilet, elbows propped on the cold porcelain, palms pressed to his eyes, breathing ragged. Before Blaine has a chance to say anything, Kurt lurches forward, back heaving and all Blaine can do is rest a hand between his shoulder blades, stroking comfortingly until he’s done. Kurt breathes heavily, sags against the toilet before turning and blinking up at Blaine. His face is pale, cheeks flushed, glistening with sweat and Blaine frowns, pressing the back of his hand to Kurt’s forehead. He feels warmer than he did last night, eyes fluttering shut at the touch.

“I need to take your temp,” Blaine murmurs as he pulls away, hands fumbling clumsily with the drawers beside the sink. He knows the thermometer is in here somewhere; for the first year Kurt diligently kept track of Blaine’s temperature twice a day and he still keeps it handy, just in case. He finds it tucked behind the band aids just as Kurt gives a small whimper and it clatters to the ground.

“Shit,” Blaine swears loudly. His hands are shaking and he grips the cool tile of the counter, swallowing down the nervous fluttering of his stomach. Kurt needs him. Kurt needs  _him_ , Kurt who’s spent so long looking after Blaine, after his every need. Kurt deserves someone who can help him, look after him when he’s sick; Blaine is still damaged, his hands shaky, thoughts half-formed, and it scares him. Scares him that he won’t know what to do, that even if he does, he won’t be able to _do_ it. But he’s not going to let his fears keep him from being what Kurt needs. Blaine takes a breath and steels himself.

He lowers himself down, decides sitting is better than trusting his balance, and picks up the thermometer, wills his hands to stop shaking as he uncaps it, presses the  _on_  button. The numbers blink that it’s ready and Blaine scooches beside Kurt, who looks at Blaine curiously.

“I need to take your temperature. I’m going to stick this in your ear, okay?” Blaine motions to the thermometer and Kurt nods, eyes closing as he leans towards Blaine. Blaine tucks a stray strand of Kurt’s hair behind his ear before slipping in the end of the thermometer, and pressing the tiny button. It takes a moment and Kurt stays obediently still, until there’s a muffled beep and Blaine pulls it out, frowning at the flashing numbers.

“One hundred and one,” Blaine says, looking back up at Kurt, reaching his hand to push damp hair from his forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”

Kurt slumps, like he had known, but hearing it confirmed has sapped any resistance he might have had.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice rasping and he winces. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

Blaine just shakes his head.

“I had my flu shot, remember? Unlike someone.”

“Rub it in,” Kurt says with a weak smile. “You’re supposed to pity me.”

Blaine opens his mouth to respond, but Kurt’s face twists and he scrambles for the toilet, pulling himself up. He heaves but nothing comes up, sliding back down after a moment with a pathetic moan. Blaine rubs his back sympathetically.

“This sucks,” he says with a humorless laugh and Blaine can’t think of anything to say, mind going frustratingly blank, the familiar void that sucks away his words at the most inconvenient times. Instead he bites his lip, and Kurt looks at him, eyes full of sadness and understanding and  _no_  this isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“It’s all right,” Kurt says, resting a hand on Blaine’s knee. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Frustration bubbles inside of Blaine, courses hot through his blood because Kurt doesn’t understand. Blaine  _needs_  to do this, to take care of Kurt, to prove that he  _can_. That he’s not useless. And even more than that, he just needs Kurt to okay. He wants more than anything to be able to pull Kurt into his arms, to be there for him when he’s sick or hurt and for once just take care of  _him_. Without Kurt constantly fussing over what Blaine needs, if he’s comfortable, how his head feels. Without that look in his eye, so maddeningly understanding, like he doesn’t expect anything from Blaine and that’s okay. Because it’s not okay. To Blaine it’s anything but okay.

But the words aren’t coming and Blaine’s not going to sit there and do nothing and Kurt’s started shivering so he pulls himself to his feet. He pauses for a moment outside the door, leaning heavily on the bars of his walker as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, calming his nerves. He shouldn’t be getting this flustered, but Kurt has never depended on his like this before and it scares him. It scares him that he actually  _will_ screw up. He lets the thumping of his heart slow, stomach twisting as he listens to Kurt cough. He can do this.

With renewed determination he steps back into their bedroom, pulls the fleece blanket from the end of the bed. The fabric is soft in his hands and he remembers when Kurt made it, just over a year ago, spread the fabric across the floor, talking animatedly as Blaine had watched, huddled on the floor next to him, unable to help except to hold the scissors when Kurt didn’t need them. Kurt had made it for Blaine, who was perpetually cold, the fleece thick and warm and perfect. A smile pulls at Blaine’s lips at the memory and he drapes the blanket over his arm, heading back to Kurt.

Kurt’s shivering on the floor when he gets back, teeth chattering despite the heat radiating from his skin and he gives a grateful sigh when Blaine drapes the blanket over his shoulders, pulling it in tight. Blaine turns to the cabinet, pulling out endless orange bottles until he finds the Tylenol. His fingers slip as he struggles with the child lock, silently cursing whoever thought this was a good invention until he hears the small click and the cap twists off. Shaking out two small pills and filling a glass of water, Blaine sits behind Kurt, pulls him against his chest.

“Here,” Blaine offers the pills and water to Kurt, who takes them without protest. “It should help your fever.”

Kurt nods, lets his head fall back against Blaine’s shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Blaine asks, voice soft as he strokes a hand down Kurt’s arm. Kurt groans.

“Like shit.”

Blaine gives a sympathetic hum. “Let me know if I can get you anything, all right?”

Kurt shifts, tries to look up at him. “Blaine, you don’t have…”

“Kurt,” Blaine cuts him off, voice clipped and more harsh than he means. “Just let me. Please.”

Kurt pauses, gives a small nod. “Okay.” And he relaxes into Blaine, shivering even under the blanket, and Blaine hums to him, releasing him when he lurches for the toilet. After awhile Kurt settles, his breathing growing steadier, head bobbing as sleep tries to tug him away. Blaine gives a sad smile at the sight, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder lightly when he figures enough time has passed that Kurt’s not going to be sick again.

“Hey, Kurt,” he whispers and Kurt blinks, eyes glazed. “Do you think you can make it to the bedroom?”

Kurt nods slowly. Blaine pulls himself to his feet, finding his balance before reaching to help Kurt up.

“Whoa,” Blaine exclaims as Kurt stumbles, wraps an arm across his back and guides him to the sink. He lets Kurt rinse out his mouth, splashes his face with water. Kurt looks exhausted, purple ringing his eyes, hair falling limp across his forehead, ready to collapse at any moment. Blaine narrows his eyes at the door, trying to figure out the best way to do this. The ground feels solid under his feet, if they go slow he thinks they can make it. It’s not very far to the bedroom.

“Come on,” Blaine says, sliding his arm back across Kurt’s back. Kurt leans against Blaine, throwing him off slightly, but Blaine just swallows, determined. He lets his free hand glide against the wall as he leads Kurt from the bathroom, into the short hallway. Each step is calculated, the wall providing stability and support, Blaine whispering soft words of encouragement. They have to stop once, when Kurt staggers and Blaine feels the world dip dangerously around them, but he closes his eyes and counts to ten and pushes forward.

Kurt practically collapses onto the bed when they reach the bedroom and Blaine lets out a relieved laugh. They made it. Kurt’s snuggling into Blaine’s side of the bed but he supposes it doesn’t really matter, they both tend to migrate towards the middle anyways, and Kurt is already nuzzling into Blaine’s pillow. Blaine pulls the covers up to Kurt’s chin, strokes a thumb over Kurt’s cheek. Kurt’s eyes flutter back open, locking with Blaine’s, so full of trust Blaine’s beginning to feel overwhelmed. So he leans down to drop a kiss to Kurt’s temple, heart swelling and head swimming as Kurt breathes his name with a smile.

“Get some sleep,” Blaine whispers, giving Kurt’s shoulder one last squeeze before pulling away. He drags the garbage can to the bedside, just in case, before flipping off the light and leaving the door open just a crack. In the hallway he lets his head fall back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness rolls though him and he slides to the ground, fingers digging into the carpet.

He sits for a moment, lets his mind process, get up to speed with what’s just happened, what he needs to do. He needs help, he knows that much. As much as he wants to do this on his own, he just  _can’t_ , and he doesn’t want to hurt Kurt by trying. It’s difficult, makes tears prick at his eyes, admitting he needs help. Sure he’s had help with  _everything_  over the past two years, but actively seeking someone out…makes him feel like he’s failing somehow. He should be able to take care of a silly flu by himself, that’s what boyfriends, fiancés, husbands do for each other.

He pushes his thoughts away as he unlocks the phone he grabbed before leaving the bedroom, gets lost a few times scrolling through the contacts list, his fingers still not quite deft enough for the touch screen, and he’s fighting back tears of frustration by the time he lands on the correct number.

“Kurt?” Rachel’s voice is sleepy and Blaine realizes it’s barely after six.

“Um, no,” Blaine says and clears the heaviness from his voice. “It’s Blaine.”

“Blaine?” Rachel says slowly and Blaine can hear her fighting to wake up. “Is something wrong?”

“Kurt is… he’s sick. I think he has the flu,” Blaine hates how desperate he sounds, but he can’t keep the edge of panic from his words. “Can you…can you come over? I’m not sure what…what to do.”

Rachel is silent for a moment and he can hear rustling through the phone. “Yes, of course. Is he okay? What’s he doing now?”

Blaine glances towards the bedroom door. “He’s sleeping now. He’s got a fever and was, um…” he takes a shaky breath as the word flies away, trying to calm himself and focus. “He threw up earlier. I just… I’m worried.”

He hears a crash and Rachel swears. In any other situation Blaine would laugh.

“Okay, Blaine, I don’t have anything until this afternoon so I’ll come by as soon as I can.”

“Thanks,” Blaine mutters, shame and relief mixing inside him. The background noise quiets and he can hear Rachel take a deep breath.

“You’re doing good, okay Blaine? Just keep an eye on Kurt and he’ll be all right, I promise.” Her voice is calming and Blaine nods before he remembers she can’t see him.

“Yeah.” The word is rough and Rachel makes a sympathetic noise.

“Everything will be fine, okay? Just keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” is all Blaine can manage and Rachel reassures him once more before hanging up, leaving Blaine alone in the hallway. He sits there for awhile, eyes closed and heart pounding. He makes up lists in his head, bullet points to organize what he needs to do. Check on Kurt, record his temperature. He’s probably going to need food at some point, maybe a shower. Blaine bites his lip, searches his brain. There has to be something else, something he’s forgetting. He’s scrolling through the phone before he really knows what he’s doing, presses it tight to his ear as it rings.

“Hello?” His mother’s voice is cracked with sleep and Blaine realizes it’s even earlier in Ohio, wonders when he’ll ever learn an appropriate sense of time.

“Hey, mom.”

“Blaine?” Jennifer sounds confused and figures he should have used his own phone.

“Yeah, sorry, I woke you up. I can call later.” He pulls the phone away to end the call but Jennifer’s frantic voice stops him.

“No, no, Blaine it’s fine.” Her voice is getting stronger as she wakes up. “Just hold on one second, okay?”

He’s silent, a sudden wave of emotion mixed with fatigue weighing him down, head thumping back against the wall. Muffled noises come through the phone, he imagines his mother pulling on her bathrobe, the fluffy green one his father had gotten her years ago. She always claimed to hate it, but Blaine knew that was a lie, he remembers clinging to it when he was younger, palms scraped and knees filled with gravel as his mother rocked him, tried to explain to him how sometimes the world isn’t as nice as Blaine had always imagined it.

“Hey sweetie, what’s going on?” Jennifer’s voice drifts back through the phone and Blaine squeezes his eyes shut. For a moment he’s envious of that little boy with scraped knees, safe and warm in his mother’s arms.

“When I was little…did I ever get the flu?”

Jennifer gives a small, airy chuckle. “Of course. You were so precious, always apologizing for being sick, like it was your fault.” She pauses. “Is something wrong?”

Blaine draws in a shaky breath. “Kurt’s sick. I just…don’t know what to do. I’m afraid of…of making it worse.”

Jennifer makes a sympathetic noise. “Do you have help?”

“Rachel’s on her way.” Blaine opens his eyes, lashes sticking together with tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I was just wondering what…” He pauses, huffs in frustration as he searches for the rest of the sentence. Jennifer waits patiently. “What you did for me…when I was sick.”

“Well you were significantly younger than Kurt is,” Jennifer says and Blaine can hear the lightness of her voice, already starting to ease the tension knotting his stomach. “But honey, there’s nothing you can do except be there for him. Have Rachel write you a list if it will help, but if it’s just the flu he’ll work through it in a couple days, just make sure he gets plenty of fluids. Soup never hurts either.”

“Soup,” Blaine repeats. “Got it.”

There’s a pause.

“I remember one time when you were…oh probably ten, you had that terrible bug that was going around. You could barely talk and I could tell you felt absolutely miserable. But you didn’t want us to worry about you, so you locked yourself in your closet and buried yourself under laundry.”

Blaine feels the blush creeping into his cheeks, despite being alone.

“The only way we could get you out was by singing to you. And bribing you with ice cream. I held you for hours in that closet, singing to you. You wanted me to sing Britney Spears, but I didn’t know the words.” Jennifer gives a small laugh. “After that, I remember I got that silly flu, and you dressed up in my apron, put that pink bow in your hair…do you remember that bow?” Blaine does. He remembers loving it because it was his mom’s, stroking his fingers tenderly over the rough pink fabric. Until his father took it away, ripped from his hands and replaced with a baseball mitt. “You dressed yourself right up and brought me ice cream and brushed my hair and sang me Britney Spears for hours. You wanted to teach me the words so I would know them for the next time someone got sick.”

Jennifer stops, Blaine can hear her sniffing,  runs his sleeve across his own nose.

“You’ve always been so good at helping others, it’s just who you are. You  _give_ , Blaine, and you care, so much. I know Kurt will be fine, with you looking after him.”

“Th-thank you,” Blaine responds quietly, voice cracking. “I just…I don’t want to screw up. It’s hard to…remember everything to do.”

“I know, sweetie. You can always call me if you need help, you know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s hard honey, I know. But you’re so brave and you love Kurt so much, and everything is going to be okay, all right?”

Blaine nods, a tear slipping down his cheek. It’s still odd to hear his parents being so open and supportive. They haven’t had a bad relationship, not really, they’ve just never quite understood Blaine. Never really understood his life or his choices. Why he’d rather teach underprivileged children how to play piano for next to no salary than go to business school or law school or med school. They never really understood Kurt and why they were so happy together. Why it didn’t matter where they lived, or how much money they had, because they had each other and that was what mattered.

But they’re trying. They’re trying so hard to understand, to love and be a part of Blaine’s life that it makes Blaine’s heart swell close to bursting.

“Thanks mom,” he knows it’s not a lot, not even close to everything he wants to say, but he doesn’t think his voice will hold for anything more.

“Anytime,” Jennifer says and Blaine can hear the smile in her voice. “You can call anytime sweetie, okay? It doesn’t matter how early it is. Or what it’s about. It’s so nice to talk to you, now that…”  _now that you can_.

“I will, I promise,” Blaine responds, wiping his eyes dry and he means it.

“Now go help Kurt. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

“I love you.

“Love you too, mom.”

He hangs up. Stares. Breathes. Tells himself to get a grip and pulls himself up. In the bathroom he washes his face, wets a washcloth, and shuffles back to their bedroom. Kurt has pushed the blankets off, laying sprawled out across the whole bed, face shining with sweat. He lets out a pathetic moan when Blaine climbs up next to him, presses the back of his hand to his forehead. He feels even warmer and Blaine hopes Rachel doesn’t take too long to get here.

Eyes blink open when Blaine drapes the washcloth over Kurt’s forehead and Blaine smiles down at him.

“How are you feeling?” Blaine asks, running his thumb lightly down Kurt’s cheek. Kurt just groans and rolls towards him.

“Like I’ve entered the dying process,” Kurt responds and winces, a hand drifting to his neck. “Throat feels like sandpaper.”

“You don’t have to talk. Rachel’s coming over.”

Kurt gives a weak cough, grimaces, frowns.

“How did…how did I get back in bed?”

“Shh, don’t talk,” Blaine says gently, earning a glare. He pets Kurt’s hair. “I helped you back. Don’t worry Kurt, just get some rest, okay?”

Kurt stares up at Blaine, eye fever bright but perplexed.

“Work?” he croaks.

“I’ll call them, don’t worry.” He moves to get off the bed but Kurt reaches for him, grabs a handful of his pajamas in a tight fist.

“Stay?”

Blaine scoots back, nods. “Of course.”

Kurt curls against him, and Blaine strokes a gentle hand through his hair.

-

It’s nearly nine by the time Rachel bursts through the door, a grocery bag in one hand and a tub of precariously balanced soup in the other. She looks frantic, eyes wide and mouth running, a flurry of activity as she deposits her purchases in the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long, do you know how hard it is to find acceptable vegan soup in this city? I know you’re shocked because it’s New York but really I wouldn’t be having this trouble if I was in San Francisco and no one cared that this is an emergency and my best friend is deathly ill-”

“Kurt’s not-”

“And you know what, I don’t think they even spoke English, but it’s a good thing that I’ve been practicing my Italian for my new role…come to think of it, I might have ordered the pork and pea soup, my Italian is still a little rusty and I can’t roll my R’s quite as well…”

Rachel starts to roll her R’s as she peers into the soup container suspiciously.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Blaine says with a frown, starting to feel anxious just watching her. He wrings his hands together and Rachel quiets, looking up and prancing over, arms enveloping Blaine in a quick hug.

“It’s soup and that’s what matters, right?” she says, lets Blaine go, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“How is he?” she asks, glancing behind her at the bag she left on the counter. “I brought Gatorade, because you know how important it is for him to replace his electrolytes, and saltines in case he can’t keep anything down.”

“Thank you, Rach,” Blaine says earnestly, squeezing her hand. “He’s been sleeping… his fever has risen a bit and I’m… I’m worried.”

Rachel looks at him seriously. “Can I check on him?”

Blaine nods. She heads towards the bedroom at a pace Blaine can keep up with, opens the door with a small knock. Kurt’s huddled back under the blankets and she makes a pitying noise as she approaches the bed.

“Kurt?” She says softly, leaning in and resting her hand on his forehead. Kurt stirs, blinks. His face is flushed, hair sticking to his skin, eyes glazed.

“Blaine?” His voice cracks and he winces.

“I’m flattered you see me as permanent relationship material, but no, it’s Rachel,” she says and offers him a smile. He just stares at her. “How do you feel?”

Kurt licks his lips. “Better if people would stop asking me that.”

She glances back at Blaine, who shrugs sheepishly.

“Kurt, do you know where you are?” she asks slowly, each word enunciated.

“-bout five seconds away from killing you,” he mumbles and rolls away from her. She straightens, pats his shoulder.

“I think he’ll live,” she states, looking at Blaine. “He seems aware enough.”

She runs a hand through his hair and Kurt grumbles, burrows further under the blankets.

“What did you say his temperature is?”

“One-oh-one point five.”

Rachel nods. “The flu’s been going around, I think he’ll be okay with a some rest and doting on by his adoring boyfriend.”

Blaine gazes at the lump of blankets that is Kurt, trying to quell the nervous fluttering of his stomach. Kurt’s going to be okay. It’s just the flu.

“I can stay for awhile if you want,” Rachel offers and a grunted  _no_  sounds from under the covers.

“I think…I think we’ll be okay,” Blaine says, even though he’s not sure. “If you think he’s okay.”

Rachel smiles, wraps him in another hug.

“You’re doing great, Blaine. Kurt will be fine, just keep an eye on him. If you think he needs the clinic just call me. My best friends are more important than rehearsal any day. Well, unless I get the title role in a revival of  _Funny Girl_ , then we’ll have to draft an agreement of when it is appropriate to call me and what my response will be, depending on how close it is to my debut.”

Blaine snorts. Rachel’s never changed, but he wouldn’t have it any other way, really.

“Thanks.”

She leans up and pecks a kiss to his cheek.

“I do what I can.” Kurt coughs weakly from under his pile of covers. “I will leave you to tend the infirm. There’s medicine in the grocery bag and try to get him to drink Gatorade at least every two hours, and he’ll be perking right back up in no time!”

Blaine assures her he will, Kurt grumbles that he’s falling more ill the longer Rachel stays, and Rachel scribbles down instructions for Blaine, posts them to the fridge, leaves in the same flurry she arrived with and Blaine can breathe again.

He grabs a Gatorade, carefully follows Rachel’s directions with the medication (he doesn’t trust himself enough to figure out the correct dosage and he’s never been more thankful that Rachel understands) and crawls back into bed with Kurt, pulls him onto his chest. Kurt gags on the medicine but doesn’t throw up, washes it down gratefully with Gatorade, snuggles into Blaine with a raspy sigh.

“Sorry about Rachel,” Blaine apologizes, stroking a hand through Kurt’s hair.

“-s’okay,” Kurt mumbles, already half asleep and Blaine presses a kiss to Kurt’s warm forehead. Settles back in, the anxiety and nervousness clenching at his chest loosening.  

They day passes.

Kurt only leaves the bed to throw up around noon, Blaine right behind him with a clean pair of pajamas and a comforting hand. In the evening he successfully warms up the soup (it’s not pork and pea, thank god) and helps Kurt to the couch, wraps him up in nearly every blanket they own. They eat their soup in silence, Kurt sniffling over his bowl, grimacing with every swallow, Blaine dutifully wiping up any spills. Kurt drops a spoonful down his shirt, face twisting in distress and Blaine comforts him, patting it dry as Kurt starts to cry.

“Hey, Kurt, it’s all right, don’t cry.”

“I ruined it,” Kurt sobs into his chest and Blaine shakes his head. He had forgotten how distraught and emotional Kurt gets when he’s sick.

“It’s just a shirt, we’ll get you a new one, shh.” Blaine twines his fingers through Kurt’s. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re fine Kurt, I’ve got you.”

And suddenly Blaine is struck with how many times Kurt’s said those exact words, on this exact couch, a distressed Blaine in his arms, comforting him and holding him and making everything better. Blaine smiles, despite the situation, despite Kurt tears staining his shirt, despite the spilled soup and the couch that Kurt will no doubt get professionally cleaned. He smiles because he knows what he’s doing. He might forget things, he might screw up and need so extra help, but he’s trying and he hasn’t killed Kurt yet. He smiles because a confidence is growing in him, something he hasn’t felt in nearly two years.

The feeling stays as they cuddle on the couch, Kurt drifting in and out of sleep, the movie  _Up_  playing softly in the background, Blaine humming along with the melody. He taps out a text to his mom, who sends back kisses and best wishes for Kurt. The movie is nearly over when Kurt twitches against him, wakes suddenly from his dream, looks up at Blaine and frowns.

“Don’t ever go,” Kurt whispers, inching so he’s nearly on Blaine’s lap. Blaine kisses the tip of Kurt’s nose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, wishes he could take away all of Kurt’s nightmares, his fears. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Forever?”

“Forever. Right here.”

“Forever on the couch?”

“Works for me.”

“Hmm good.” Kurt coughs and Blaine rubs his back.

“Blaine?”

“Kurt?”

Kurt catches Blaine’s gaze, eyes brimming with emotion.

“I trust you.”

A lump forms in Blaine’s throat and he swallows painfully around it, tries to keep his own tears in check. He smoothes down the back of Kurt’s hair, pulls him back onto his chest, doesn’t know what to say. No word exists that could possibly cover what he’s feeling, so he doesn’t try. Instead he pulls the mountain of blankets around them closer, rests his cheek against Kurt’s unruly hair.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs but Kurt’s already there, lips slightly parted, breath warm against Blaine, the awkward position making him snore ever-so-lightly. Blaine will never tell Kurt, but he thinks it’s adorable, that little snore. He falls asleep to it, the movie credits rolling in the background, enveloped by the feeling of  _right_.

They sleep on the couch all night.


	13. Let Me: a continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the few setbacks they’ve had lately – the arguments, the bills, getting sick – Kurt can’t remember the last time he’s felt as completely happy as he has in the last few months. Can’t remember seeing Blaine smiling so much, doing so much, being his own person.

_December 20 th, 2019_

It takes three days for Kurt to wake up feeling like a normal human being. He cracks his eyes open, stifling a yawn, stretching out onto his back. Hands are in his hair, stroking softly across his scalp, a thumb brushing across his forehead.

“Hey,” Blaine’s voice is quiet and Kurt squints up at him. He’s sitting beside Kurt, a book on his knees, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. His hair is bed messed and face warm with a smile.

“Hi,” Kurt responds, blinking into full awareness. The morning sun is streaming through the windows, the ache in muscles and the pounding in his head finally gone.

“How are you feeling?” Blaine asks, the hand that’s not in Kurt’s hair closing his book and stroking the spine. Kurt stretches his arms above him dramatically and groans.

“A vague semblance of healthy,” he says with a smile at Blaine and Blaine looks truly, honestly happy, his shining eyes magnified behind his glasses.

“Good. I was worried about you.”

Kurt examines Blaine’s face, sees the truth of that statement in the ring under his eyes, the lines of his mouth. He pushes himself halfway up, snuggling into Blaine.

“You look worse than I do,” he says, keeping his tone light despite his realization of the past three days. In Kurt’s fever and medication induced haze he had known what was happening, but never fully processed it. He had barely been able to feed himself, only moving to run to the bathroom to be sick. But he remembers eating, remembers going from the living room to the bedroom, remembers cool washcloths and comforting words. Remembers Blaine being there for him.

“I couldn’t sleep well, knowing you were sick,” Blaine says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Kurt is silent for a moment, and Blaine continues to softly stroke through his hair.

“What are you reading?” Kurt asks when Blaine shuts his book, sets his glasses on the bedside table.

“ _Overcoming Trauma, Taking It One Day at a Time_ ,” he reads the title with a shrug. “It’s for group.”

Kurt gazes at the cover.

“Can I read it when you’re done?”

Blaine looks slightly surprised, but nods.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Kurt murmurs, cuddling in closer to Blaine. Now that Blaine can read longer than a few minutes without getting a headache, thanks to the glasses, he’s been slowly making his way through the stack of inspirational books that Anita from his support group has loaned him. Kurt thinks they’re a little cheesy, but Blaine seems to find comfort in reading about others who have gone through the same things he has, and so Kurt is willing to give them a try.

“I should take your temperature, just to be sure,” Blaine says after awhile, the back of his hand resting on Kurt’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Kurt protests when Blaine slides away. He still doesn’t have quite enough energy to  stop Blaine from sliding out of his arms and off the bed. Blaine turns back around and kisses Kurt’s cheek, ignoring his annoyed huff.

“I’ll just be a minute, alright?”

Kurt crosses his arms as Blaine leaves the bedroom, hand gliding on the wall for balance. There is something niggling at his mind and he frowns, his exhausted brain struggling to figure out exactly what is. He gives up and waits, can hear Blaine riffling through the drawer in the bathroom, the door giving a slight creak when he returns, and it finally dawns on Kurt.

“You’re not using your walker,” he whispers as Blaine sits back on the bed. Blaine just gives a small smile, pushes the button on the thermometer.

“The bathroom’s not that far,” he says nonchalantly, sliding the thermometer into Kurt’s ear. Kurt waits patiently, suppressing what he wants to say. Blaine’s never really been one for praise, it makes him feel uncomfortable, awkward. So Kurt bites his tongue and simply squeezes Blaine’s arm, smiling when Blaine meets his gaze. Blaine smiles back, looks at the number  on the thermometer.

“Ninety-eight point seven,” he reads. “You’re cured.”

“Praise be Jesus,” Kurt says in a slight southern drawl, earning him a raised eyebrow from Blaine. “Now come here, I’ve just come back from my death bed and I desire my fiancé.”

Blaine rolls his eyes but obediently slips back under the covers beside Kurt.

“You’re as bad as Rachel.”

Kurt pretends to look offended as he wraps his arms around Blaine, nestles into his shoulder.

“I resent that comparison.”

Blaine chuckles and Kurt feels warmth blossoming in him. Despite the few setbacks they’ve had lately – the arguments, the bills, getting sick – Kurt can’t remember the last time he’s felt as completely  _happy_  as he has in the last few months. Can’t remember seeing Blaine smiling so much, doing so much, being his own person. It makes Kurt’s heart swell until he thinks it might fill his whole chest, makes him hold Blaine that much tighter, press a kiss to his neck, scratchy with stubble.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as Blaine strokes a hand rhythmically across his back.

“For what?” Blaine asks, voicing lifting with confusion.

“For taking care of me. For not letting me die.” Kurt traces a flower on Blaine’s chest, complete with grass and a bumblebee.

“I could say the same,” Blaine’s voice is soft and Kurt stills his hand.

“Let’s call it even then,” he says, lifting his head to look at Blaine’s face. Blaine’s eyebrows pull together.

“Because of your three day flu?”

“Hey now. I was on death’s door.” Kurt puts a dramatic hand on his forehead and Blaine rolls his eyes for the second time.

“It was probably the…” Blaine pauses, searches for the sentence,  “the healing powers in Rachel’s soup that saved you.”

“Oh god,” Kurt shudders at the memory. “Don’t allow her to ever bring soup again. I don’t care if it will make me live forever.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Blaine defends Rachel. “Besides, she helped me help you.”

Kurt sighs. “I suppose I’ll be forever indebted to her now.”

“There are worse things,” Blaine says softly, resting his cheek against the top of Kurt’s head.

“But few,” Kurt says after a moment and Blaine gives a small laugh.

There’s silence for a few moments, both content to simply sit with each other, comforted by warm sun and steady breathing.

“But really, thank you. I know I’m a horrible sick person.” Kurt vaguely remembers breaking into tears more than a few times over the pettiest things, Blaine always there to stroke his back and tell him everything will be alright.

“I don’t mind,” Blaine says simply and Kurt knows it’s true. Blaine would do anything for Kurt, without a single word of complaint. And Kurt knows he needs to start letting him.

“Do you think you can stomach real breakfast?” Blaine asks suddenly. “I already called your work and told them you needed another day.”

Kurt bites his lip, not sure if he’s feeling overly emotional because of the dragging edges of his sickness, but it just makes him so ridiculously happy, Blaine taking control like this. Blaine finding his confidence.

“Oatmeal?” he requests, Blaine nodding with a successful smile when Kurt doesn’t turn down his offer.

“Of course. With raisons?”

“And brown sugar?” Blaine gives an exaggerated sigh and shake of his head, presses a kiss into Kurt’s hair.

“Wait here.”

Kurt watches Blaine leave the room, settles back into his pillows, and does exactly as Blaine says.


	14. Sometimes (a sandwich is all it takes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine just gives a shrug, like that fact that he is venturing out of the house, voluntarily going into public, is no big deal.

_Sometime_

Cuddling with Blaine isn’t the same anymore. Before that night, Blaine could never really sit still. They’d put in a movie, snuggle up next to each other on the couch, get the blankets situated, everything perfect. Kurt would sigh with contentment, his head on Blaine’s shoulder, legs tangled together. They’d sit for a few minutes and then Blaine would shift, tap his toes or readjust the blanket. A few more minutes and he’d stretch his back, move his legs just enough that Kurt would have to reposition himself. They’d settle back in, finally slotted perfectly against each other. And then something funny would happen, or something scary, and Blaine would jump or laugh and completely upset the comfortable nest Kurt’s worked so hard to create. Kurt would grumble and threaten Blaine that he was going to invest in those tranquilizers they use for rabid dogs if he didn’t learn to sit still.

And the cycle would repeat all night, Blaine twitching and moving, Kurt sighing with fake exasperation. But despite his grumbling and protesting, he kind of liked it, the constant movement. It was just Blaine - twitchy, energetic Blaine and any other way would just be… weird.

Now, everything is different. Now, Kurt gets Blaine settled into the couch, starts a movie, curls up next to him. He drapes a blanket over both of them, wraps his arms around Blaine and pulls him into his chest. Blaine doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch or readjust the blankets or stroke a gentle rhythm on Kurt’s thigh like he used to. He’s still, his only movements the gentle rise and fall of his chest as his lungs expand and contract. Now, Kurt keeps Blaine close, warm and safe in his arms, wants to keep him here forever. Sometimes it’s too much, this new stillness, and Kurt can’t stop the tears from rolling silently down his cheeks, holding onto Blaine that much tighter.

He doesn’t know if Blaine really watches the movies. Sometimes it will end and Kurt will find Blaine asleep in his arms, lips parted and a small circle of drool soaking into his shirt. Kurt will chuckle, shake Blaine awake, kiss his forehead as he blinks sleepily, tell him it’s time for their beauty sleep. Sometimes Blaine just stares at Kurt’s knees, eyes sad and withdrawn. Kurt will stroke his thumb down Blaine’s cheek, whisper  _I love you_ s into his ear, hoping that Blaine hears him. That he’ll listen.

Cuddling with Blaine is different now, but so is everything, really.

 

_January 17 th, 2019_

Today is a terrible day. Margaret was supposed to be in with the spread over an hour ago, and Kurt  _knows_  she’s avoiding him because she doesn’t have it done yet, and his computer keeps freezing so he can’t do it himself, and his boss is going to walk in at any moment and demand an explanation and Kurt is going to flounder and be fired and live in the streets and beg for food and have to wash his clothes in the gutter and…

No. Deep breaths. Kurt draws a long inhale through his nose, closes his eyes and exhales through his mouth. Kurt Hummel does not panic. He takes every situation with equal stride and perseveres. He’ll just stay late the next few days to catch up, no big deal. He can work from home next Thursday, make it up to Olivia for staying late. Or maybe Rachel can drop by, stay with Blaine for awhile… Kurt bites his lip, pen tapping a fast rhythm on his desk, mind working just as fast to figure this all out.

He digs out his cell to call Margaret  _again_ , and Olivia, and he might as well add his life insurance agency to that list, because there’s a chance he won’t survive this week at the rate it’s been going. There’s a soft knock and Tiffany, the secretary, slips into the room.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she says, a gleam in her eyes that Kurt doesn’t recognize, and he’s pretty certain he doesn’t like it. Oh god, he’s getting fired, isn’t he? He’s getting fired and even the secretary thinks he deserves it. His heart skips a beat, sure this is the end.

“Alright,” Kurt says when he’s found his voice, smiles at the secretary even though he doesn’t feel it. “Thank you, I’ll be right out.”

Tiffany nodes, slides back out. Kurt takes a swallow of water, prepares himself. If he’s getting fired, he’s going down with dignity. He straightens his jacket, smoothes down any escaped strands of hair, tries to keep an iron grip on any dignity he has left. The door opens just as he stands up, stomach twisting with nerves.

And then he blinks, not quite processing. It’s not his boss who enters the room, but Blaine, pushing his own wheelchair, Olivia trailing close behind.

“Blaine?” Kurt says, not quite understanding. He had been so absolutely sure about who was going to walk through that door, and now it’s Blaine, Blaine who hasn’t been here since  _before_ , Blaine with a wide smile on his face.

“Hi,” Blaine greets, frowns. “Is this a bad… time?”

Kurt shakes his head quickly. “No, no, no, I’m just… um…”

There really is no delicate way to tell your fiancé that soon you’re going to have to be sharing a cardboard box on a street corner, Kurt is discovering.

“Good, ‘cause I ran into, uh…” Blaine frowns, looks up at Olivia.

“Nora,” Olivia supplies and Blaine nods. Kurt feels himself pale, his heart speeding. Oh god, did his boss really send it his own fiancé to fire him?

“Nora, and she gave me this… to, um…” Blaine searches, “to give to you.”

He holds up his hand, a tiny flash drive tucked in his palm.

“She also said she can feel you… worrying from the St-arbucks down the street and to take a b-break or you’re going to have an… aneurism.”

Olivia gives Blaine’s shoulder a squeeze, obviously proud of him for relaying the whole message on his own. Kurt takes the flash drive from Blaine, turns it over in his palm. It’s the one he gave to Margaret, the one he had been expecting over an hour ago. He laughs, bends over to wrap Blaine in a tight hug. Blaine slides an arm around Kurt’s back, gives him a squeeze.

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asks, drawing back and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You forgot a…” Blaine frowns.

“Lunch,” Olivia whispers from behind Blaine.

“Your lunch. I wanted to bring it… to you.” Blaine just gives a shrug, like that fact that he is venturing out of the house, voluntarily going into public, is no big deal.

“Thank you,” Kurt says with another kiss to the cheek, unable to stop the fluttering in his stomach. It never ceases to amaze him how, after all this time, Blaine still manages to impress him, to make him feel as happy as they day they met.

“He made it all himself,” Olivia says, passing over a paper bag. Kurt peeks inside.

“Turkey sandwich?” Blaine says as a question, like he’s suddenly doubting himself. “With hummus.”

“Perfect.” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand, gives it a squeeze.

“I’ll just go grab a coffee at Starbucks?” Olivia says, giving Kurt a quick wink. “Do you want me to grab you anything?”

Kurt groans and fishes out his wallet. “Oh god, I might actually marry you if you can pick me up a venti macchiato.”

Blaine makes a protesting noise as Kurt hands Olivia some money.

“Don’t worry, our bed is big enough for three,” he says lightly. Blaine huffs and Olivia chuckles, before skirting away.

Kurt can’t keep the stupid grin from his face as he pushes Blaine up to the table, pushes away the fabric and designs scattered everywhere.

“I didn’t… interrupt something?” Blaine looks worried, glancing at the stacks of work piled around the room. Kurt likes to refer to it as ‘organized chaos,’ but he supposes it might look a little intimidating.

“Only my entire day falling apart at the seams, and my untimely but imaginary dismissal,” Kurt says with a wave of his hand.

“What?”

Kurt laughs, pulls a chair up beside Blaine.

“You saved it though.” He kisses Blaine’s cheek again, can’t seem to stop, before pulling two sandwiches and a tub of apple chips from the bag. The sandwiches are sliced into neat quarters, lettuce peeking out from the crust and it’s just so unbelievably  _amazing_  that Kurt can barely remember why he was feeling distressed before.

Blaine listens attentively as Kurt tells him about his travesty of a day, smiling and offering sympathetic comments when Kurt stops to take a breath. They pause when Blaine’s sandwich slips from uncoordinated fingers, landing in his lap. Kurt shushes his attempts at apologizing, carefully picks the lettuce from Blaine’s lap, wipes up the hummus.

“I would live in a…ca-rdboard box with…you,” Blaine says with a small smile as Kurt dabs his tide-to-go pen on a spot on Blaine’s pants. Kurt looks up, pauses. Blaine’s words are choppier today, less defined and more hesitant, and Kurt figures its nerves from being out in public. But he looks so  _honest_ , eyes wide and vulnerable, lips pink from where he’s been worrying them, and Kurt just wants to pull him into his arms and never let go.

“It’ll be crowded. I take up a lot of space,” Kurt warns.

“Even better,” Blaine says, brushing his thumb lightly over Kurt’s hand. Kurt twists his hands up, twines their fingers together.

“Even if we have to bathe in a river and sew our own clothes from tree bark?”

“Tree bark would go… would go well with your eyes.”

Kurt brings their hands up, kisses Blaine’s fingers.

“Mmm, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Blaine parts his lips like he’s going to say something, brow furrowing as he loses whatever it is. He huffs, moving to pull his hand away, but Kurt just holds on that much tighter.

“I love you, Blaine,” he says honestly and Blaine looks down, lashes sweeping over his cheeks. “More than you can believe.”

“I love you too,” Blaine murmurs. “Tree bark and all.”

Kurt laughs, releases Blaine’s hands so he can wrap him in an awkward sideways hug.

“Thank you for lunch,” he says to the curls behind Blaine’s ear. “And for saving my crappy day.”

Blaine leans into Kurt, brings his hand up to wrap around Kurt’s forearm.

“Anytime.” 


	15. And When I Wait, All I See Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees that look in the doctors too, like they all know something, share a secret knowledge that he can’t possibly understand. Like he’s just the sad, breakable fiancé of the coma patient who needs constant reassurance, who lives in a room padded with false hope, who should be treated as delicately as cracked glass.

_May 2nd_ _, 2018_

The first day the ventilator is removed it’s easy to pretend. He can look past the PICC line, the feeding tube, the catheter, the compression devices. He can ignore the oxygen mask, the short hair, the swollen scars, the unnerving stillness. Because Blaine’s breathing on his own. He’s breathing and twitching and sometimes, in the complete quiet, Kurt can hear a barely-there groan.

Sometimes, in the brief moments he’s alone with Blaine, when Burt is grabbing things from the apartment and Jennifer is catching up on sleep at the hotel, he closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and holds Blaine’s hand, and just lets himself feel. He runs his thumb across Blaine’s palm; feels the calluses, the old, formed ones, the new ones from the ukulele Blaine was learning to play. He follows the lines; the life line, the length and depth of it comforting in a way. He feels the rough skin of Blaine’s fingers, the jagged edges of his cuticles, wonders if he can get his dad to bring his manicure kit. He brushes over the back of Blaine’s hand where the skin between his fingers is dry and starting to crack from the empty hospital air, works his way up to the bones of his wrist, somehow so strong and delicate at the same time.

It’s quiet without the ventilator. Makes it easier.

“I hope you come back to me,” he whispers, eyes still closed. “I really would like you to.”

He blinks but doesn’t cry. Everything feels too heavy, too weighted to cry. Blaine’s face is calm, lacking the pinch of his eyebrows that he gets when he dreams, the way he sometimes smacks his lips in his sleep. Kurt hopes he feels as calm as he looks. That everything is peaceful.

“I can’t…” Kurt starts, stops. His eyes follow the lines of Blaine’s face, sweeps the curve of his nose, the part of his lips. “You have a lot of mail. I haven’t… I haven’t read them yet. The letters. I’m saving them… for you.”

Blaine breathes.

“I, um… I don’t know…”

Kurt swallows past the painful lump in his throat.

“I really miss you. And…”

He stops. Closes his eyes, grips Blaine’s hand tighter, feels.

“Please be okay.”

Blaine keeps breathing.

 

_May 9th, 2018_

Kurt knows it doesn’t happen like in the movies. He knows Blaine’s not going to just snap his eyes open and smile and tell Kurt he had a lovely nap, but he’s ready to go home now. Kurt’s listened to the doctors and the nurses, has done his own research. He  _knows_.

It doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

It’s two days after Blaine first woke up and he has yet to open his eyes again. Kurt gets worried, barely leaves Blaine’s side, even when Burt tries to drag him home, because he  _needs_  to see. He needs to be here when Blaine wakes up again.

He worries that Blaine’s slipped back into his coma. The nurses come and do tests, rub knuckles on his sternum, pinch his fingers. Kurt thinks it looks painful, but Blaine lets out the softest of groans, hand attempting ever-so-slightly to pull away and Kurt’s heart jumps straight into his throat.

“Is that… was that…”

The nurse smiles at him, pulling the stethoscope from her neck.

“He’s responding to painful stimuli. It’s a good thing.”

 _Good_. Kurt lets the word float around in his head as he watches the nurse listen to Blaine’s lungs, his heart, shines a light in his eyes.

“Why… why is it taking so long?” Kurt asks even though he knows the answer. He’s asked this before. The nurse just offers him one of those sympathetic, understanding smiles he’s grown so used to. He sees that look in the doctors too, like they all know something, share a secret knowledge that he can’t possibly understand. Like he’s just the sad, breakable fiancé of the coma patient who needs constant reassurance, who lives in a room padded with false hope, who should be treated as delicately as cracked glass. Kurt knows, but doesn’t even have the energy to care.

“Blaine’s gone through a huge shock, his brain is still trying to figure things out. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

 _I wish you would figure things out faster_ , Kurt thinks and immediately feels bad. He slips his fingers through Blaine’s, still pink from the pinch, and gives him a squeeze.

“Take as much time as you need,” he says, eyes focusing on the tiny freckle on the side of Blaine’s hand. He runs his thumb over it. “I’ll be here for you. However long it takes.”

Blaine’s fingers twitch and Kurt imagines he heard him.

-

When Blaine does wake up, Kurt wishes he’d stayed asleep. Jennifer Anderson is on the other side of the bed, back from her nap and shower in her hotel, Kurt dozing in and out, fingers still laced with Blaine’s.

There’s a high pitched whine, almost childlike. Kurt gives his head a shake, the tired fog creeping into his thoughts immediately gone. He watches, heart pounding with hope as Blaine’s lips twitch, his fingers tremble. Jennifer’s already standing, hand clutching Blaine’s, leaning over the bed.

“Blaine, sweetie?”

Another whine, Blaine’s eyes crack open, his throat working, a choked gasp. Kurt can already tell something is wrong; Blaine’s face is tense, eyes beginning to move back and forth without focusing and Kurt pounds the call light. A nurse enters the room just as Blaine begins to shake, body tensing impossibly, guttural moans escaping his lips. Kurt snatches his hand back from Blaine’s, heart beating a panicked rhythm in his chest as the nurse hurries to his side. She asks questions that Kurt doesn’t know the answer to, Jennifer responding for him, the words muted and metallic, as if from a distance.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening, time slowing down and speeding up all at once, eyes locked on Blaine shakingseizing _convulsing_  in the bed before him. It’s nothing like the movies and if Kurt has learned one thing it’s that movies  _suck_. Everything is romanticized in movies, made pretty with the angles, the makeup, the lighting. Everyone  _wants_ to see, some tortured part of themselves can’t tear their eyes away, but really… they don’t. They want to see what they think it’s like, the pretty, toned down version of all things medical, but not the reality.

Because the reality is ugly. Reality is Kurt forgetting to breathe, head swimming as Blaine arches off the bed, face turning red, saliva bubbling at his lips, a noise halfway between a grunt and a scream escaping his throat with each convulsion, harsh and animalistic. It’s nothing like the seizure in the ambulance, the jerks in his coma. It’s intense and scary and Kurt is sure this is the end and he never got to properly say goodbye.

There are people rushing in, pushing Kurt out of the way, hands on his shoulders, trying to guide him from the room. No, no,  _nonono_  the words vibrate in his skull, escape his lips. He can’t leave, he didn’t say goodbye, he needs to say goodbye, he needs to be  _here_ , be with Blaine, he needs to say goodbyegoodbyegoodbye…

…he’s in the hallway, hunched over, a hand on his back as he heaves into one of those blue hospital puke bags.

“Deep breaths, Kurt, just like that, keep breathing, you’re okay,” a voice says in his ear, soft and comforting and Kurt tries to obey, forces his lungs to inhale…exhale… He blinks, clutches the blue puke bag tightly as he coughs, draws air through his burning throat. Jennifer is rubbing circles on his back, her face wet with tears, a nurse he doesn’t recognize on his other side.

“It’s okay,” Jennifer whispers again, and Kurt’s not sure who she’s saying it to. The nurse grabs the bag from him as Jennifer pulls Kurt into a hug, holds him so tight that Kurt wonders if she’s picturing someone else in her arms. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

The words are repeated like a mantra, and Kurt realizes he’s crying, shoulders shaking, and it’s awkward because Kurt is so much taller than Blaine’s mother, but it doesn’t matter. Her arms stay wrapped around his waist, Kurt’s forehead falling to her shoulder, and he cries. He cries out of fear, worry, the unknown. Out of loss, and love, and an  _ache_  that won’t go away.

They wait in the hallway, surrounded by the bustle of the ICU and the smell of antiseptic that Kurt can never seem to get out of his clothes. It lingers with him, never quite letting him go, a persistent reminder. A patient is wheeled passed them, pale and gasping, a woman clinging to his hand, whispering comforts that Kurt can’t make out. He wonders, with a strange detachment, if the patient is dying, how much time he has left. If the woman with him is his wife, his girlfriend, his sister. What she’ll do when he’s gone.

He wishes he could feel something for them. Or maybe he feels everything. He’s not sure, not anymore, not with his emotions colliding, exploding, suffocating inside him. He’s not sure where one feeling ends and the other begins. He’s not sure if it’s empathy or apathy he feels towards the couple (brother and sister?) but he wishes he knew. All he knows is that every thought, every pang in his chest, every sucked in breath, it all goes back to Blaine.

Blaine. Like the world is changing its orbit, and Blaine is the stuttering sun.

Kurt’s not sure where the world will go if the sun goes out.

-

They talk to the doctors for awhile. Kurt nods like he understands when they use words like  _tonic-clonic_ ,  _posttraumatic epilepsy_ , when they talk about neurons and synapses, scarring, abnormal electrical activity, excitotoxicity. He wants to understand,  _needs_  to understand, but he knows everything will make sense later. He’ll research, he’s good at researching, he’ll learn and ask and know. But right now he feels fuzzy, like cotton has been stuffed in his ears, only the remembered sounds of Blaine’s shrieks making it through.

Blaine’s sleeping when they’re finally allowed back in. He looks the same as before, maybe his face is a little paler, the rings under his eyes a little darker, and there’s a bruise forming on his arm from where it hit the bedrail, but otherwise, just walking in, no one would really know what had just happened.

Kurt pulls his chair back to the bed from where it had been shoved aside in the rush of people. He feels like he’s vibrating, like he’s still moving, even as he sits. So he focuses on the little things. Like Blaine’s eyelashes, the oxygen mask covering most of his face, his chest rising and falling with every breath. He can hear Jennifer crying now,  see her hand hovering over Blaine’s.

Kurt wonders if he should be crying. Wonders where this new detachment is coming from. Wonders when the world will slow down so he can think again.

Sleeping seems like a good idea.

-

The room is dark when Kurt wakes up. He blinks, cheek pressed into the sheets of Blaine’s bed. He’s hunched forward and there’s an ache in his back, but his head feels clear and he draws in a deep breath. He’s looking down Blaine’s legs, can see the jut of the sheets covering his feet, knows that under the blankets there are boots holding Blaine’s feet straight so his tendons don’t shorten, his calves wrapped in air compression devices to prevent blood clots. He knows they’re there, but in the dark, with the blankets covering them, he can pretend. Everything is normal.

He stifles a yawn and pushes himself up, arches his spine as he stretches back in his chair… and freezes. Blaine’s eyes are open, half-focused and following his movements. His face is impassive, the oxygen mask replaced back with the nasal cannula, his body still, only his eyes giving any indication of something different. Kurt smiles, he can’t help it, and a quick glance around the room reveals Jennifer sleeping on the tiny cot set in the corner. He thinks about waking her, but that would mean leaving Blaine’s side, would mean getting up and moving, and Kurt doesn’t think he’s physically capable of that right now.

“Hey,” he says, quietly, remembering what the doctor had said about decreasing stimuli, and the importance of a quiet environment. Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, tangles their fingers and hopes that this time, if Blaine squeezes, it will mean something.

“You’ve been sleeping for a long time,” Kurt says after a silent moment. Blaine blinks, eyes fixed on Kurt’s face.  _Please stay awake._ “You can sleep as long as you want, I don’t mind. I just want you to be okay.”

Kurt pauses, leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Blaine’s forehead, right above his left eyebrow. Blaine moves slightly at that, the smallest tip of his head, a minuscule bend of his knee, the tiniest scrunch of his nose.

 _Please stay._ “Whenever you feel like waking up, I’ll be here. I’ll be with you, waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kurt shifts his casted arm awkwardly in his lap, bites his lip.

 _I miss you._  “Whenever you’re ready.”

Blaine squeezes his fingers.


	16. Hold onto the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've always been a fighter. This is just one more fight, okay? You can, I know you can."

_April 23 rd, 2018_

He’s not sure if it’s exhaustion or an inability to cope that has him drifting in his chair. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s the pain meds floating through his system, making everything around him both hyperactive and muted, sounds and colors running together and he  _can’t_  anymore, he can’t take it. His cheeks feel swollen, his eyes puffy from crying, and everything in him seems to have seeped out, anchoring him into the uncomfortable hospital chair until his head dips, and he  _lets go_.

Until a hand rubs his shoulder, his head snapping up and he groans because his brain is pounding and his arm throbs and _where is he?_

“Easy hun,” a voice soothes, and Kurt blinks. Takes in the tacky carpet, the uniform chairs, the neat stacks of magazines. A nurse kneels in front of him, offers him a Styrofoam cup. Kurt takes it in his good hand gratefully, sips the cold water, willing his head to stop spinning.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Kurt mumbles and everything snaps in place. Last night,  _Blaine_ , the ambulance, the shouting and rushing and being separated and surgery and- “Blaine, how is he? Is he… god, is he okay?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” the nurse says, only her small smile keeping Kurt from panicking completely. “The doctor says he’s stable enough if you would like to go see him. It can only be for a few minutes, until he has the second surgery.”

Kurt nods, standing and swaying as the world bottoms out under his feet.

“Careful,” the nurse rests a hand on Kurt’s elbow, steadying him. “You need to take it easy.”

Kurt stares at her, uncomprehending. “I need to see him, please. I need… he’ll be okay, right? He’ll… he’ll live?”

The nurse meets his eyes, her gaze warm. “The doctor will talk to you about everything soon, but he’s still critical. We’re still working on getting his brain swelling down, right now.”

Kurt just nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak, just needs to see Blaine, to see that he’s alive. The nurse seems to understand, leads him out of the waiting room and through the doors of the intensive care unit. She stops at the end of the hall, in front of a room situated differently from the others, rubs his arm in a manner he supposes is supposed to be comforting. It’s not, really.

“I’m going to ask you to put on a mask, and to wash your hands before we enter. Because his head is still open to relieve the swelling he’s very susceptible to infection right now.”

There’s a sink at the station beside the room and the nurse takes Kurt’s uncasted hand, gently washes it under the warm water, before helping him to secure the mask on his face. It’s stifling and hot, but Kurt can’t even think to complain.

“And Kurt, it might look a little frightening, but we’re doing everything we can for him, okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Kurt manages, feels hot pressure behind his eyes and tries to swallow it down, figures he shouldn’t let his mask get wet.

“Come with me.”

Everything is too fast and too slow. Each moment, each step inside takes a thousand years yet is over in a second and Kurt’s not sure he can even breathe, stifled behind the mask, the warm ICU air all around him.

The room is dark, the lights dim, filled with a quiet whirring and a steady beeping. Kurt can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mouth suddenly dry as the nurse releases his arm and he takes a step forward. There’s an impossible number of machines and Blaine looks dwarfed, unnatural,  _notBlaine_. His face is pale, the left side covered in bandages, his head hidden from Kurt’s view by drapes and bandages and Kurt’s glad, doesn’t think he could handle  _that_. Just knowing what’s _there_ , what’s happening to the man he loves more than anything, is enough to make his throat tighten painfully, his chest constrict.

A ventilator parts Blaine’s lips, his chest rising and falling with equal, rhythmic whirs, IVs line his arms, wires snaking under his hospital gown. Kurt hesitates, an arm’s reach from the bed, unsure. It’s Blaine but it’s not, everything completely changed and foreign from hours ago when they were laughing in the park, feeding each other gyros and kissing on the bench. It seems impossible that things could change so quickly, like this is all a ridiculous dream that Kurt is sure to wake from, that everything will be  _okay_. But the ache in his chest, the way his lungs don’t seem to want to expand like they’re supposed to, the way he can’t tear his eyes away from Blaine’s face, battered and bruised and broken, it’s all too real to be a dream. In the worst possible way.

“You can touch him, if you want,” the nurse says, voice soft and understanding. Kurt looks up at her, sees the way she smiles at him, before taking a step forward, closing the space between him and the bed. Blaine’s hand is right there, and Kurt doesn’t know why he feels so nervous, knows it’s probably the machines and the feeling of  _fragile_  that makes his breath stop in his throat, his whole body feel heavier than it actually is. Blaine’s skin is cold, remembers how the doctor told him Blaine was chilled during surgery, his hand unnaturally still. Even in sleep, Blaine’s hand would find Kurt’s, their fingers linking and curling together naturally. A reflex.

Not now.

“I’m…” Kurt’s voice cracks when he speaks, his fingers curling around Blaine’s tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

Blaine’s chest rises, falls, in, out.

“This is all my fault Blaine, you’re so hurt, god… and it’s all my fault.” Kurt closes his eyes, doesn’t trust himself not to break down right there.  _Hours_  of waiting, of uncertainties, of not knowing what is going to happen and now being here, seeing Blaine for the first time since they were separated out of the ambulance, since he was torn away from Kurt, and it’s too much.

“I’m sorry.” Pause. Kurt swipes his thumb across the back of Blaine’s knuckles, vaguely notices the nurse has left them alone.

“Please, Blaine. Fight, okay? I need you here. I need you with me, I…” He takes a deep breath, drawing in warm air through his mask. “I can’t do this without you. I need you, Blaine, and I’m so sorry. God, words can’t…”

A tear slips down his cheeks, soaks into the mask.

“You’ve always been a fighter. This is just one more fight, okay? You can, I  _know_  you can.”

He squeezes Blaine’s hand, wills some of his strength through their grip, wishes he could do more than watch helplessly as his fiancé suffers for Kurt’s stupid mistake. He stands there for a moment, silent and stroking Blaine’s hand, eyes moving from the rhythmic movements of Blaine’s chest to the monitor that shows his heart, still beating, still pumping, still fighting.

“Kurt?” A voice draws his attention from Blaine, the nurse standing in the door, a look of regret on her face. “I’m sorry hun, it’s been ten minutes.”

Kurt nods, everything in him screaming to protest, to stay here with Blaine, but he knows this is in Blaine’s best interest, that Kurt being here won’t help him heal, only puts him more at risk.

“Okay, yeah,” he says before looking back to Blaine, giving his hand one last squeeze. “I have to go, Blaine, but I’ll be back as soon as they let me after your surgery, okay? You keep fighting.”

His hand is shaking as he loosens it from Blaine’s, it feels empty and cold.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

-

He goes home, after. It’s not really a conscious choice. It’s nearly four in the morning and the nurse calls him a cab, tells him to get some sleep and a shower, try and eat something if he can. Blaine’s surgery won’t be for awhile and it won’t do Kurt any good to run himself ragged.

Kurt doesn’t protest, doesn’t really have it in him to protest, just gets in the cab, spouts off his address, the city moving by him in a blur. Despite the early hour, there are cars out, headlights catching the light flurries of snow, the occasional person braving the cold on the sidewalk. Kurt wonders how they can go on with their day, like today is any other normal day, like the world wasn’t spun off orbit last night.

He rests his head against the cool glass, closes his eyes, unable to bear it.

He pays the cab when it comes to a stop, feels weightless and heavy as he takes the elevator up to their apartment. Everything is the same as they left it. The reminder for Blaine’s school concert stuck to the fridge, his sweatshirt thrown across the back of the couch despite Kurt’s constant reminders that they have a perfectly functional closet in the bedroom, his keys thrown on the countertop because Blaine is  _always_  forgetting them.

The keys jingle slightly as Kurt picks them up, moves them to the hook next to the door, installed for that very reason. He grabs Blaine’s sweatshirt, the fabric worn and thin in his hand, drapes it over his arm as he makes his way through the tiny apartment to the bedroom. Everything is too quiet, too empty, Blaine’s absence making everything feel  _wrong_ , like this isn’t the same place they’ve called home for the past three years.

He pauses in front of the closet, the sweatshirt gripped tightly in his hand as he tries to locate a hanger. Instead he finds memories; Kurt’s insistence on an evening stroll, Blaine rolling his eyes but happily stripping off the sweatshirt and changing into something more to Kurt’s standards. Blaine pressing a kiss to his cheek as they link hands and bundle up for a New York winter. Their breath misting the air as they strolled to the part, the tang of the onions in their gyros, lingering on their lips as they kissed. Kurt, too eager to get home, pulling Blaine along, fingers sliding where they shouldn’t, the alley, pressing up against the wall, the shouting, the grabbing. Blaine, so, so angry, the fighting, the rusted pipe, the blood, the  _fear._

He pulls off his clothes, awkward with only one working arm, blood (Blaine’s blood, oh god) still splattered along the sleeves, marking his jeans, and slips on Blaine’s sweatshirt. Blaine’s scent, earthy, warm, and right  _there_  surrounding him. He feels heavy, numb, his ears ringing, and he collapses onto the bed, the note Blaine left this morning sliding off his pillow. Kurt strokes his thumb over it, clinging to the hope that this won’t be the last note Blaine ever leaves. He pulls Blaine’s pillow to his chest, buries his face in the scent of Blaine, and drifts into a restless sleep.

-

He wakes to the sound of banging in the kitchen. At first he thinks it’s Blaine making coffee, Blaine always makes sure there’s a big pot of coffee ready for Kurt in the morning, but the weigh to the cast on his arm, the throbbing in his head, reminds him of otherwise.

The alarm clock is too bright beside his bed, betraying it to only be seven-thirty in the morning, what could someone possibly be doing in his apartment? Kurt slips from the bed, too exhausted to be worried, makes his way from the bedroom.

“Cooper?”

Blaine’s brother looks up from where he’s messing with the coffee maker; there are bags under his eyes and worry lines on his face but he smiles at Kurt.

“Hey Kurt. You um, forgot to lock the door and I thought you might want some coffee when you woke up so…”

“What… what are you doing here?”

Cooper’s face turns serious. “I caught a flight as soon as I heard.”

“Oh.”

“How’s he doing? Blaine?” His voice is nearly a whisper, as if afraid for Kurt’s answer.

“His brain is still swelling. They don’t… they won’t really know anything until they can get it under control I guess. They’re… he’s going to have another surgery today, to put his skull back together, once the swelling goes down.”

Cooper’s forehead wrinkles in concern and Kurt can see his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. Kurt’s sure he doesn’t look any better.

“What do they say, about his… his chances? Is he going to be okay?”

“It depends on the swelling,” Kurt says, closing his eyes, already exhausted. “They think he’ll have brain damage, if he does make it.”

He can still remember the  _crack_  that echoed through the alley when the pipe hit Blaine’s head, the way Blaine had dropped, immediately limp. The way Kurt had  _screamed_  until his voice gave out, the sound muffled behind a meaty hand, the pain in his arm as it was twisted, the way their attacker didn’t even care, had landed one, two, three more blows on the side of Blaine’s head. He can still see the blood, staining the pipe and spreading across the ground, so much that Kurt didn’t know how Blaine could still be alive. It matted Blaine’s hair, coated his ear, his face, his neck.

He could still feel the scrap in his knees when their attackers finally released him as he fell to the ground beside Blaine, hands hovering, not sure where to touch, what to do. How his throat had tightened and he couldn’t even  _breathe_ because Blaine was dead, god, he was deaddead _dead_. And then shouting, a bright light illuminating them and everything had moved in a blur, a police officer checking Blaine’s pulse, calling for help, for an ambulance, and that was good right? That meant Blaine was still alive, Blaine could be okay, the ambulance would come and they would save him. Kurt hadn’t cared about the blood, soaking into his knees, staining his sleeves, he’d just grabbed Blaine’s hand, held on with all his might, refused to let go until he’d been ripped away by the paramedics. 

“Kurt?” Kurt blinks, sees Cooper looking at him, eyes worried.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Kurt whisper, and Cooper nods, understands.

Only when the water’s beating down on him, too hot, steam curling around him and fogging the mirrors, does he let himself break down, salty tears mixing with water and washing down the drain.

Cooper doesn’t say anything when Kurt returns, still dressed in Blaine’s sweatshirt and a loose pair of jeans, just slides him a cup of coffee.

“Mom and dad’s flight is coming in at ten, they’ll catch a cab straight to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Kurt nods, takes a sip of his coffee. It’s too bitter, not the way that Blaine makes it.

“How’s your arm?”

Kurt looks at his arm, the white plaster keeping it immobile, supposes it hurts but he doesn’t really feel it.

“It’s fine.  Just a minor fracture. I’m fine.”

He knows Cooper doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say anything else, and they both pretend to drink their coffee.

“I was going to go back, to the hospital,” Kurt says after awhile and Cooper nods. “They won’t let us be with him yet but, I just… I can’t be anywhere else.”

“I understand,” Cooper says and helps Kurt to his feet. “I’ll call a cab.” 

 

_the next day_

“Hey Blaine,” Cooper whispers. It’s the first they’ve been allowed in his room, the surgery done and Blaine’s head all in one piece. It just Cooper and Kurt in the room, Blaine’s parent’s had gone in first; Blaine’s condition is still critical and they didn’t want to many people in at once.

“Hey squirt,” Cooper speaks again, settles nervously into the chair next to the bed. Blaine’s still on the ventilator, still hooked up to a million machines, still covered in bandages. Now there’s a bolt screwed into the side of his head, to measure the pressure in his brain, the doctors had explained. Kurt doesn’t like it. It looks unnatural. Wrong.

Kurt stands on the opposite side, can’t bring himself to sit, not yet. He draws Blaine’s hand into his own, can’t help the suffocating disappointment when the hand is just as limp as before, just as still. The moment feels delicate, fragile, like glass that’s already started cracking. Cooper meets Kurt’s eyes before flickering back to Blaine, swallowing thickly.

“Do you remember after Sadie Hawkins?” Cooper starts, voice wavering at the end. “You wanted to get out of bed right away, even though you had a concussion and a broken leg. I kept telling you to take it easy, not to push things. I remember the way you looked at me,” Cooper gives a small laugh, strokes a hand on Blaine’s arm, “like I was completely crazy. You told me that you couldn’t waste any time. That you needed to get stronger, that you weren’t going to let them push you around anymore.”

Pause.

“Of course, Dalton was the best option for you, but I remember, Blaine. You made me start teaching you how to box in your hospital bed. You didn’t know, you already were strong. You’ve always been so strong, Blaine.”

Kurt smiles a little, Cooper’s words ringing so true and he hopes that  _somehow_ , Blaine can hear them.

“This is just like last time, baby brother. You can pull through, I know you can.”

Kurt sits, finally, presses his lips to the ends of Blaine’s fingers, wants more than anything for Cooper to be right.

  
_June 20 th, 2018_

It’s strange, having Blaine home. It’s only been a few hours but Kurt still feels charged, ready to jump at everything, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Blaine’s parents return with food, just a few boxes of Chinese but Kurt doesn’t think he can eat. Not now. Not with everything so new and scary.

Blaine mostly watches Kurt, eyes following as Kurt makes himself too busy, talks without really saying anything, straightens the pillows for the twelfth time. Kurt knows if Blaine could he’d tell him to calm down. He’d put his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, push him onto the couch and sit on his lap until Kurt settled down, and Kurt would chuckle, would know he was acting ridiculous. But Blaine can’t. Can’t do anything except sit there and watch as Kurt stresses, as he fumbles without a routine.

They’ve been waiting for this day for so long, Kurt so excited to have Blaine back home, that now… he doesn’t know what to do. Jennifer helps Kurt hook up Blaine’s feeding tube, Blaine pressing his hand reassuringly against Kurt’s arm. Jennifer kisses Blaine’s cheek as she pours his meal replacer into the syringe Kurt’s holding. Blaine’s patient, just waits, doesn’t react to the way Kurt’s hands are shaking, the way he squeezes Blaine’s hand a little too tight.

“You’re doing perfect, honey,” Jennifer says, smoothing a hand over Blaine’s short hair and Blaine rolls his eyes, gives Kurt a pointed look and Kurt’s not sure if he should be laughing or crying. Despite everything, he’s still just so  _Blaine._

After they’re done Kurt disconnects the tubing, adjusts Blaine’s shirt, cleans everything exactly the way he was taught. Jennifer’s still stroking Blaine’s arm, and Kurt knows it’s because she cares, she cares so much for her son, but he can see the way Blaine looks vaguely annoyed and uncomfortable.

“Do you want to see outside?” Kurt asks, wringing his hands. “We have a porch swing.”

Blaine’s mouth turns up into his little smile and he nods, eyes meeting Kurt’s, grateful. Kurt wraps his hands around the handles of Blaine’s wheelchair, wonders how long it will take for the grooves of his fingers to form, how long it will take before the action of pushing Blaine becomes natural.

It’s warm outside, a summer wind drifting through the trees, blowing Kurt’s hair slightly out of place. Kurt pushes them onto the porch, Jennifer hesitating just inside the door, watching with a knowing smile. Blaine’s eyes close and he lifts his face in the direction of the setting sun, exhaling slowly. Kurt pauses, stands there for a silent moment, lets the breeze drift over them.

“You missed this, in the hospital,” Kurt says quietly. “Being outside.”

Blaine nods.

“Do you want to sit on the swing?”

Blaine nods again.

Kurt’s moved Blaine before, on his own, from his hospital bed to the chair. He’s done it but he still feels clumsy, still unsure, always worried about doing something wrong, hurting Blaine more. But he’s determined. This is it. This is their life now. He needs to get used to it, can’t rely on Blaine’s parents being here to help forever.

It’s a simple wood porch swing, big enough to fit two and padded with dark green pillows, connected to the overhang by two thick chains. Blaine takes it in, looks up at Kurt with a smile on his face and Kurt feels almost  _giddy_ , not sure if it’s the fact that Blaine’s finally,  _finally_ , home, or if it’s just Blaine that makes him feel like this. Probably both.

Kurt’s awkward, doesn’t have it quite down yet, holds Blaine too tight under the arms, lifts him a little too slow to be comfortable, and his grip slips a few inches but they make it. Kurt makes sure Blaine is settled and comfortable before plopping down beside him, pushing off the ground with his feet so the swing drifts back and forth.

“I know it’s not like our apartment back in New York, but I think it’s nice here.”

Blaine shifts to look at Kurt, his hand searching until Kurt twines their fingers, leans to press up against Blaine’s arm. He lets his head fall to Blaine’s shoulder, strokes a pattern on his knee with his free hand.

“I hope it’s okay.”

The sun is dipping below the horizon, streaking the sky a pale pink, sending long shadows across the lawn. The sounds of traffic drift with the wind, quieter than it was in the city, and birds chirp a simple melody from the trees. Blaine lets his cheek rest on the top of Kurt’s head, squeezes Kurt’s hand as best as he can.

It feels right, having Blaine home, sitting outside together, hands linked. For the first time in two months, Kurt feels  _whole_ , like the piece of his life that’s been missing has finally been put back in place. He hums, for the first time since the attack, the sound vibrating through his cheek and into Blaine. The noise that Kurt’s come to recognize as Blaine’s broken chuckle sounds in his throat when he recognizes the chorus of  _Here Comes The Sun_.

Kurt tilts his head to press a kiss just below Blaine’s earlobe.

“We’re going to make it.” He settles his head back onto Blaine’s shoulder. “We’ll make it.”

-

That night, Jennifer kisses them both goodbye, Robert clapping Kurt’s shoulder and they leave for their hotel. Blaine yawns, looks at Kurt sheepishly. Kurt understands, feels exhausted as well, the stress and worry of the day weighing his limbs and pulling at his eyelids.

He helps Blaine get ready for bed, has been over the routine hundreds of times in the hospital, practicing and committing everything to memory. He knows it’s embarrassing for Blaine, to need someone to brush his teeth, to help him use the bathroom, but he doesn’t protest, just lets Kurt busy himself, fussing over his pajamas and pulling back the covers of the bed.

It takes some maneuvering but Kurt gets Blaine situated in bed, on the left side like  _before_ , Kurt changing into his own pajamas before crawling in beside him. It’s familiar and not; two months of sleeping alone, Blaine’s half of the bed untouched and empty, and Kurt’s not sure what to  _do_  now, what’s okay. He settles into his side, wants so badly to touch Blaine, to move closer to where to bed dips under Blaine’s weight. But he doesn’t know what Blaine’s wants, can’t ask him, doesn’t know what will make him uncomfortable.

Until Blaine attempts to roll, groaning slightly at his awkward movements, and Kurt startles up, sees the way Blaine’s eyes look into his, pleading for something. And Kurt knows, smiles as he scoots closer until his body presses to Blaine’s, too warm and yet just right. He pulls Blaine into his arms, Blaine’s back against Kurt’s chest, his legs tangling with Kurt’s. Kurt finds Blaine’s hand, laces their fingers and presses a soft kiss to the back of Blaine’s neck, just under his hairline.

“I missed this,” he whispers and can feel the way Blaine relaxes against him, knows Blaine did too. “I’m so glad you’re home, Blaine. I missed you so much.”

Blaine’s thumb jerks over his hand and Kurt touches another kiss to Blaine’s neck, remembers how Blaine used to stroke his thumb over Kurt’s hand when they would lie awake in bed together, the movement almost second nature. It’s different now, everything is a little different, but lying here, with Blaine finally in his arms, everything seems pretty much perfect.

“Goodnight Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, eyelids finally drifting shut. “I love you.”

They sleep.

 

_February 8 th, 2020_   
  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/preciousmellow/pic/000066ac/)

Kurt wakes. He stifles a yawn as he stretches his arms above his head, reaches over to find Blaine, lands instead on a scrap of paper. Blinking the sleep from his eyes he scans the words, smiling and falling back in bed. The writing is shakier than normal and Kurt can picture Blaine, scribbling the words, excited as Cooper fakes impatience, ready for a morning out of the house with his brother.

Kurt knew Cooper was going to be in town, knew that he would invite Kurt along, but really just wanted to spend time with his little brother. It’s good for Blaine, Kurt thinks as he settles back under his covers, content to spend a lazy Saturday morning in bed. Since Blaine’s setback, since the disappointment of not being able to return to work this semester, Kurt’s been worried. The drive that had been keeping Blaine going, that had been pushing him to do better, better,  _better_  was slowly disappearing.

The way Blaine had screamed in frustration, anger, had taken it out on Kurt even though Kurt knew he didn’t mean it. Kurt was just there, was the easiest target, and Blaine had been holding onto this for so long, and now it was ripped away from him. Of course he was going to be angry. That night Kurt had held him while Blaine whispered apologies into his shirt, silent tears soaking through the fabric and Kurt had stroked his back, told him everything would be alright. They would get through this, just like they’d gotten through every other setback. Just because this one was a little bigger than most didn’t mean they wouldn’t fight. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t make it.

Kurt had called Cooper the next day, knew he was between jobs at the moment.  _I think Blaine needs his brother right now_ , he had said and Cooper hadn’t hesitated, had booked a flight immediately. Kurt tries, he does as much as he can, but sometimes it’s just not enough, and in light of new disappointments, he knows Blaine needs to get out. He wishes he had enough time off to go somewhere with Blaine (when the spring line is done, he figures, they’ll escape for a week or two) but for now, a few meals out with his brother will have to do.

His hand searches the bedside table for his phone, sends Blaine a text telling him to take his time and enjoy his morning, Blaine responding with a simple heart a few minutes later.

-

They don’t get back until nearly three, Kurt pretending to work on his designs on the couch. He can hear movement outside the door, voices bickering, a wave of cold as the door opens.

“Honey, we’re home,” Cooper calls and Kurt shakes his head, pulling himself off the couch to meander to the entrance. He leans against the wall, smiling. Blaine’s eyes are wide, excited as Cooper pushes him onto the bench at the entrance, kneels down to untie Blaine’s shoes.

“Kurt,” Blaine smiles up at him before frowning. “I got you pancakes but… um… Coop got hungry and…”

Cooper just shrugs, easing Blaine’s shoes off his feet. Kurt rests his hand over his heart in mock indignation, sighs deeply.

“I think I’ll survive… somehow.”

Cooper pulls Blaine back up to his feet, holds his elbow when he wavers slightly, ruffles his hair.

“Where’s your walker?” Kurt asks, raising an eyebrow. Blaine looks down sheepishly.

“Someone made me leave it in the car all day,” Cooper says, looking at Blaine.

“I felt good today,” Blaine mumbles. He knows Kurt won’t approve, Blaine pushing himself too hard is what set him back in the first place, expects Kurt to reprimand him.

“Don’t you worry yourself,” Cooper winks at Kurt. “I piggybacked him through the park.”

Red creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt can’t help but chuckle, leans forward to press a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips.

“I’m glad you had fun.”

Cooper elbows Blaine and Blaine glares up at him before turning back to Kurt.

“I got you… something,” Blaine says, digs in his pocket. He has something closed in his palm, Cooper releasing his grip on Blaine and he walks the few steps to Kurt, presses their hands together. Kurt can feel something cool, sharp between their palms, doesn’t look just yet. He’s too wrapped up in  _Blaine_ , in the unaided steps Blaine took toward him, in the way he wavers slightly against him, the way he smells like a mix of cinnamon rolls and coffee and too long spent in a car, the way he’s smiling at Kurt, so warm and  _happy_.

“God, I love you so much,” Kurt whispers, the words falling from his lips without his conscious thought, and Blaine lights up, eyes sparkling and vibrant and so, so alive.

“Do you need me to step outside?” Cooper asks from behind them, raising an eyebrow and Kurt looks away from Blaine long enough to send Cooper a glare. The hand in his shifts and Kurt glances down, sees a glint of gold in his palm. It’s a pin, in the shape of a sun, a small red stone sparkling in the center.

“We went to an an-antique store,” Blaine explains, watching Kurt closely. “It made me think of you.”

Blaine’s wrong though, Kurt knows. Because Blaine’s always been the sun. Blaine’s been the one to shine so bright, to never go out even when he wavers, to anchor Kurt to the  _here_ and  _now_.

“It’s beautiful,” Kurt says and he means it, closes his fingers around the metal, now warm from the heat of their bodies. “Thank you.”

Blaine beams, opens his mouth to say something when he’s stopped abruptly, Cooper sweeping in behind him, wrapping his arms under his Blaine’s armpits and lifting him up off the floor, no doubt a replica of when they were kids.

“I believe you promised me a death match of scrabble,” Cooper says as he hauls Blaine away. Blaine looks back at Kurt helplessly, and Kurt just shakes his head, follows them into the living room, holding onto the sun.


	17. Hold onto the Sun: a continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He looks so peaceful."

_February 8th, 2020 (later that night)_  
  
Scrabble pieces littered the coffee table, a few had fallen and decorated the floor. The TV was muted, bathing the dark room in flickering blue and gray light. It was barely nine but Kurt could feel the weight of sleep pulling at his eyes, could see the way Cooper was fighting to stay awake across the couch.

Blaine is a heavy weight against his side, his head propped on Kurt’s shoulder. His eyes had fluttered shut awhile ago, his breathing evening out, the smile never quite leaving his lips. Kurt strokes a gentle rhythm against his leg and Blaine shifts slightly, smacks his lips with a sleepy hum before settling back down.

“He looks so peaceful.” Cooper’s words are quiet, just above a whisper. Kurt looks down at Blaine, presses a light kiss into his mess of curls.

“Today was good for him,” Kurt says, drawing a line down Blaine’s arm with his fingers, looking at Cooper earnestly.

“I think I wore him out.” Cooper cards a hand through Blaine’s hair, smiling when Blaine lets out a small sigh. “I know he pushes himself too hard when I’m around. I should have made him use his walker.”

“I think it’s okay,” Kurt says, picks up one of the scrabble pieces that had gotten shoved in the couch and runs his thumb over it. “He wants you to be proud of him. To show you what he can do.”

Cooper looks at Blaine fondly, his skin a pale blue from the television.

“I’m always proud of him. I should tell him more often.”

“He knows,” Kurt whispers, anchoring Blaine as he slips ever-so-slightly down his shoulder. “I think he knows.”

Cooper is silent for a moment.

“We sang in the car together. He’s getting really good.”

A quiet pause.

“I’d like him to come to L.A. sometime, if he can. Lauren wants to meet him and I think he’d like it there. It could help take his mind off not going back to work for awhile.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, at the messy curls, the angle of his nose, the eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, the very edge of the scar that just peaks out above his ear. He sees Blaine smiling, the California sun beating down on him, eyes alive and excited as his brother takes him to all the touristy spots, Lauren fawning over him. They’d probably go to the beach where Blaine could lay in the sun, maybe to a karaoke bar where he could really sing, and no one would know his story. He could get away from the constant reminders, the heartache and disappointment.

“He’d like that,” Kurt meets Cooper’s eyes. “We haven’t been able to go anywhere except Ohio since…”

Cooper nods in understanding. Blaine whimpers in his sleep and Kurt kisses the top of his head, strokes a hand down Blaine’s cheek.

“How…” Cooper pauses, eyes flickering from Kurt’s hand on Blaine’s cheek to his face. “How are you holding up lately?”

Kurt smiles, though he knows it doesn’t really meet his eyes, keeps his gaze trained on Blaine.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he really does mean it. “It’s been… difficult, with Blaine’s setback, but we’re making it work. I guess I just wish I could make things easier for him.”

“You do.”

There’s something about Cooper’s words that makes Kurt look up. Blue eyes are misted, a hand smoothing over Blaine’s.

“The way you are with Blaine,” Cooper says, squeezing Blaine’s hand, “the way you two just… understand each other, I’ve never really had that with him. I was so… god, so focused on my career, on making it, that I never  _really_  saw what Blaine was going through. It took me so long to actually be his brother, I just…” he draws in a deep breath, “I’m glad he has you.”

Blaine’s started drooling onto Kurt’s shoulder, his lips parted and face relaxed with sleep and Kurt feels his cheeks heat up as a wave of affection surges through him.

“Most of the time I feel like  _I’m_  the lucky one,” he whispers before reaching over to squeeze Cooper’s shoulder. “But Cooper, you’re a good brother. Blaine knows that. And I know he’d love to go to L.A. with you.”

Blaine gives another small whimper, eyes cracking open as he jerks himself awake.

“Hey there sleepy,” Cooper says as Blaine lifts his head, blinking. Kurt can see the confusion in his eyes as he tries to orient himself, gaze drifting from the scrabble pieces to the dishes left from dinner to Cooper’s hand on his own.

“You fell asleep on the couch,” Kurt reminds softly, knows it takes Blaine a little longer to piece things together now. Blaine lays his head back on Kurt’s shoulder with a hum but keeps his eyes open.

“Mmm, so comfy,” Blaine murmurs with a tiny smile and Kurt shakes his head.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Kurt starts to stand, stops abruptly at Blaine’s whined protest.

“Sleep right here.” Blaine burrows his head into Kurt’s shoulder and Cooper snorts at the sight. Kurt glares over the top of Blaine’s head.

“ _Someone_  seems to have worn out my fiancé.”

Cooper claps Blaine’s shoulder. “We had fun though, right? Warmed up your chops and worked on your improv skills.”

Blaine smiles, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles against Kurt’s shoulder.

“Hmm, fun.”

Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. “No matter how cute you may look, I’m not going to be your human pillow all night.”

“Come on sleeping beauty,” Cooper pokes Blaine’s arm, stands and offers his hand. “You’re drooling all over your prince’s shoulder.”

Blaine huffs and wipes at his mouth before taking Cooper’s hand. He tips when Cooper pulls him to his feet and Kurt jumps up, a steadying arm on his elbow. They wait until Blaine stops wavering, supported between them, looks up at Cooper, embarrassed.

“Got your sea legs?”

Blaine gives a small nod and Kurt lets Cooper lead him back to the bedroom, leans against the door as Cooper helps Blaine to sit on the bed. He has to bite back the chuckle at Blaine’s incredulous look when Cooper presents his pajamas.

“I can dress myself,” Blaine says, stifling a yawn. Cooper ruffles his hair.

“I’m reminiscing about when you were five and thought I was the coolest person in the world, humor me.”

Blaine’s face softens at that, but he gives Cooper a pointed look as he takes the pajamas from his hands.

“You’re st-still in my top five.” The words are light, meant as a joke. Cooper smiles and Blaine pulls an exaggerated face when Cooper kisses the top of the head.

“You’re turning into mom,” Blaine complains. Cooper pinches his cheek.

“Goodnight, squirt.”

“Night Coop.”

Cooper nudges Kurt’s shoulder as he leaves the bedroom, and Kurt rolls his eyes as the door clicks shut behind him. Blaine doesn’t meet his eyes, just stares down at the pajamas in his hands. He didn’t want Cooper to know and it pulls at Kurt’s heart. The room is silent as Kurt helps uncoordinated limbs through Blaine’s pajamas.

“He wouldn’t care, you know,” Kurt says softly, carefully weighing Blaine’s reaction. “He loves you, no matter what.”

Blaine’s eyes squeeze shut. “I’m tired.”

Kurt steps close, wraps his arms around Blaine, holds him tight. Something hot and damp soaks into his shirt, and it takes a moment for him to realize they’re tears, Blaine’s face pressed just over Kurt’s heart.

“It’s okay,” Kurt soothes, rubs his hand down Blaine’s back. “It’ll be okay.”

Blaine’s fingers wrap in Kurt’s shirt, his grip tight and desperate. He’s tired, has had a long day, Kurt knows, and his emotions rise up and overflow so easily, a river flooding the shore. And there’s nothing Kurt can do but hold tight and try to keep Blaine from drowning.

So he does.

He holds Blaine as close as he can until the tears slow, pulling back only to kiss away the tracks on Blaine’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispers, the words barely above a breath. Kurt closes his eyes, holds Blaine impossibly tight, knows the meaning behind Blaine’s apology.  _I’m sorry I’m not better_.  _I’m sorry I’m still like this. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me._

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Kurt’s said the words so many times, hopes that this is the time they stick. He presses another kiss, to Blaine’s lips this time, lingers longer than he needs.

“I love you, and Cooper loves you, no matter what.”

Blaine’s eyelashes are clumped with tears, his cheeks flushed with exhaustion.

“You’re tired,” Kurt runs his hand across Blaine’s forehead, through his curls. “Let’s sleep. It will be better in the morning, I promise.”

“You always say that,” Blaine mutters as Kurt helps him crawl under the covers.

“And I mean it. Tomorrow we’ll wake Cooper up way too early and I’ll make you waffles with too much whipped cream and we’ll send Cooper to bring us coffee from that café I know you love, and we’ll tease him for getting lost and then spend the morning showing him what you can play on the piano.”

Blaine smiles even as his eyes slide shut, his hand reaching to close around Kurt’s.

“I’d like that.”

Kurt touches a kiss to Blaine’s nose.

“I’m going to go make sure Cooper’s comfortable on the couch and be right back, okay?”

Blaine nods but he’s already drifting off to sleep.  

Thirty minutes later Kurt slides into bed beside Blaine, pulls him tight against him, and dreams of sunshine and hazel eyes crinkling with a smile.


	18. (found)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no urgency, no rushing, just a lingering pleasure, knowing they have now and forever for this. For closeness, for kissing. For naps on the couch and foot massages and songs sung in harmony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual content

_February 19, 2020_

“Blaine!” Kurt calls, cracking the front door open. “I require your assistance!”

It only takes a moment for Blaine to appear, head peaking around the corner of the entryway, a frown creasing his face. Kurt smiles widely at him.

“You’re home early,” Blaine remarks, leaning heavily on his cane, the other hand tracing the wall for stability as he takes a few steps forward. Kurt’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I took the day off,” he explains. “I have a surprise for you.”

Blaine narrows his eyes, recognizes the look Kurt gets when he’s proud of himself, but he hasn’t seen Kurt looking this happy in a long time so he relents and nods.

“Should I be fr-,” he pauses, collects the word, “frightened?”

Kurt doesn’t say anything for a moment and Blaine raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe you want to sit?” Kurt suggests and Blaine looks suspicious but lowers himself onto the bench in the entryway. Kurt leans in to peck his cheek, his nose, his lips, before pulling away. He looks around, claps his hands together before slapping them against his thighs, clucking his tongue a few times, and looking around awkwardly.

“Okay,” he finally says. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Not going anywhere,” Blaine says, can’t keep the amusement out of his voice as Kurt turns a full circle before heading back out the door.

Blaine lets his head rest back against the wall as he listens to Kurt open the car door, wonders what Kurt could have possibly brought him. Flowers wouldn’t require this much production. Neither would clothes or that kitchen organizer that Blaine thought would be helpful with remembering where things are. It could be that therapy bike they’d been eyeing, or the treadmill that Kurt’s wanted for ages, but Blaine doubts Kurt would be this excited about that. And besides, he couldn’t move that all on his own. Blaine is honestly at a loss of what to expect.

What he’s not expecting is a furry body to nudge its way through the door, a purple leash on its collar, winding its way up to Kurt’s hand.

“Ta da!” Kurt says, still standing in the doorway. His eyes are still excited but there’s a hint of nervousness in them, a wariness in his smile. Blaine just blinks, trying to process. There’s a dog in their house.

“Her name is Belle,” Kurt says, quieter. Blaine’s eyes flicker from Kurt’s face to the dog, to  _Belle_. She’s medium sized, coming up a little higher that Kurt’s knees, covered with a rich golden fur. She’s sitting obediently and that’s when Blaine notices. She’s missing a front leg.

He reaches a tentative hand out and she sniffs it cautiously before nuzzling her snout into his palm. He lets her, reaching and scratching behind her ear.

“Are we…” Blaine starts, “babysitting her?”

Kurt’s smile drops ever so slightly and Blaine feels a twinge of worry, he can’t help it.

“No,” Kurt says slowly, as if weighing Blaine’s reaction. “I adopted her. She’s ours.”

_Ours_.

Belle has inched forward, her chin resting on Blaine’s knees, eyes looking up at Blaine as if asking him what’s wrong. Blaine leans slightly forward, runs a hand down her head, fingers tangling in the shaggier fur below her collar.

“Is this okay?” Kurt asks, thrown off by Blaine’s silence. “I mean, I already signed the papers but if you really don’t want her I can take her back and we can wait until you’re ready. Unless you don’t want a dog, oh god, I should have talked to you first. I wanted it to be a surprise but now I probably just made things worse and this is all too much for you right now…”

“Kurt,” Blaine cuts off Kurt’s panicked rambling. He’s still petting the dog, and Belle has nuzzled in close to his side, looking exactly like she belongs there. “She’s beautiful.”

There’s a rush as Kurt lets out the breath he’s been holding, his lips tugging into a nervous smile.

“Hi Belle,” Blaine says, and Belle raises her eyes before giving Blaine’s hand a lick.

“She a seven year old Golden Retriever,” Kurt explains, taking a seat on the bench next to Blaine. “She was abused and abandoned, which is how she lost her leg. A Golden rescue shelter found her and she’s been trained to be a service dog. I’ve been looking around the shelters and when I saw her… I just  _knew_.”

Kurt leans against Blaine, reaches his hand to scratch the top of Belle’s head.

“I thought you might be lonely here and she’s trained to recognize seizures and she’s good at fetching things so I thought she might be able to help you.”

Kurt rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder.

“I should have talked to you first.”

Blaine turns his head, presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead.

“Kurt, she’s perfect.”

Kurt smiles, cranes his neck until he can kiss the edge of Blaine’s jaw. Belle is sniffing around their feet, absorbing all the new smells.

“Welcome to the family, Belle Anderson-Hummel,” Kurt says, petting Belle’s back with his toe.

“Does this make us fathers?” Blaine asks, eyelashes sweeping his cheeks as he looks down at Kurt.

“Puppy daddies,” Kurt responds, lacing his fingers through Blaine’s and giving them a squeeze. Belle moves back towards them, her gait slightly off with her missing limb, but Blaine is impressed with how well she does move. She nudges her way between them, nose nudging Kurt’s leg until he pets her head. Blaine laughs, sudden and loud and Kurt looks at him warily.

“What?”

Blaine’s eyes are crinkled in the corners and he looks so  _happy_ , in a way Kurt hasn’t seen in far too long.

“I can’t believe you got us a dog.”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

Blaine motions to Kurt’s pants, where there are already clinging strands of golden fur. “Because, dogs shed.”

Kurt brushes at his leg but his smile doesn’t waver.

“That’s why I bought a bulk case of lint rollers.”

Blaine lets out another laugh and Belle looks up at him curiously. Kurt pushes himself to his feet, Belle not leaving Blaine’s side as Kurt makes his way to the door.

“You bond with the dog, I’ll go bring in her stuff, alright?”

Blaine nods, his attention already back on the body pressed against his legs.

-

They take her for a walk that evening. Blaine’s still a little slow, opts for his walker for long distances, but Belle stays obediently by their side, only stopping occasionally to sniff at a bush or eye a squirrel suspiciously.

The suns just about to set, not quite behind the horizon, everything a warm golden, the edges of nearly melted snow glimmering. Blaine feels relaxed and everything about this moment just seems so right. A neighbor waves as they get out of their car and Kurt waves back, shouting a friendly  _good evening_.

A rock juts out from the sidewalk and Blaine catches his toe, nearly stumbling. Kurt’s arms are immediately around him, steadying him, and Belle whines anxiously, pressing up against his leg as he catches his balance.

“I’m okay girl,” Blaine says, petting her head in a way he hopes is reassuring. He hasn’t had much experience with dogs, his parents never having time for a pet when he was growing up.

“I can already tell who her favorite is,” Kurt says, voice free of any jealousy. Blaine can feel himself blushing as he scratches Belle’s ears a few more times before returning his hand to his walker.

“Well you’re the one who…” Blaine meets Kurt’s eyes, “who saved her.”

Kurt reaches and rests his hand on top of Blaine’s.

“You saved both of us.”

The sun makes Kurt’s skin glow, his hair catching the rays of light, long shadows falling across them as Kurt’s lips thin, obviously trying to keep his emotions in check. Belle sits patiently beside them, her tongue lolling out of her mouth, as Kurt steps forward, draws Blaine into a hug.

“I think you’ve got it backwards,” he says softly, his breath tickling the hair at the base of Blaine’s neck. “You’re the one who saved me.”

  
_A Week Later_

The house is silent when Kurt comes home, toes off his boots and hangs his keys on the hook by the door. The TV is on, the sound muted, flickering blue and green lights across the living room.

A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips. Blaine’s on the couch, back pressed against the cushions, Belle tucked under his arm. She looks up as Kurt approaches and he scratches her head, putting his finger to his lips.

“Shh, let’s not wake him,” Kurt whispers. Belle gives a small whine before settling back down, her head resting against Blaine’s chest. Blaine exhales, shifts slightly as his fingers curl slightly into Belle’s fur before stilling. Kurt finds the remote and switches off the TV, grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it over Blaine and Belle. Blaine’s snoring in that soft way he’s done ever since the attack, his breath ruffling the fur on Belle’s floppy ear. Kurt smoothes the blanket down over Blaine’s shoulder, leans in to press a gentle kiss to Blaine’s forehead.

Blaine’s still asleep when he finishes cooking dinner and folding laundry, Belle still curled up against him. Kurt sits at the end of the couch, pulls Blaine’s feet onto his lap. Blaine stirs slightly as Kurt slides off Blaine’s socks, a muffled groan escaping his lips when Kurt starts to massage his foot. It takes a moment, consciousness slowly creeping back, before Blaine peeks his eyes open, his head lifting to see who’s at the end of the couch.

“Hey there Sleeping Beauty,” Kurt greets with a smile and Blaine huffs, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

“Doesn’t Sleeping Beauty wake up with a…a kiss from her pr-prince?” Blaine asks, wiggling his toes when Kurt slows his massage.

“Hmm,” Kurt hums, leaning over Blaine. Belle whines, obviously annoyed by the intrusion into her space and hops off the couch, turning a circle and laying down on the floor. “Does that mean I’m your prince?”

Blaine shifts so he’s lying on his back, Kurt crawling over him before lowering himself where Belle was, slides his arms around Blaine.

“No,” Blaine responds and Kurt raises an eyebrow, pulling away slightly. “You’re my king.”

Kurt snorts, presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. “And you’re cheesy.”

Blaine smiles against Kurt’s lips before kissing back with as much vigor as he can with sleep still clinging to him.

“You love it.”

Kurt sucks Blaine’s bottom lip into his mouth before releasing slowly, kissing Blaine lazily, his hand stroking over Blaine’s back.

“I love  _you_.”

Blaine hums happily, his  _I love you too_  lost into Kurt’s mouth as they kiss. There’s no urgency, no rushing, just a lingering pleasure, knowing they have now and forever for this. For closeness, for kissing. For naps on the couch and foot massages and songs sung in harmony. For evening walks with Belle and nights spent in the hot tub until their skin wrinkles and their skin flushes. For sex and love and failed recipes and trying, trying, trying and finally succeeding. For setbacks and cautious steps forward.

Kurt’s tongue sweeps Blaine’s lower lip, Blaine’s lips parting as his eyes flutter closed to allow Kurt  _everything._ They haven’t kissed like this much, not really. There’s always something behind the kiss, the expectation of going  _further_  (which they’ve only done twice anyway), a need behind it. They haven’t really kissed just because they can, no plans, no expectations, just relishing in each other.

Until Kurt pulls away with a ridiculous smack, his thumb brushing along Blaine’s chin.

“This is beyond scruff, Blaine.”

Blaine sticks out his lower lip into a dramatic pout. Kurt presses a kiss to his jaw before making a face.

“As your king, I decree that you shall shave before we further commence with the making out.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “Or what, mighty ruler?”

A kiss lands on his forehead “Or” his cheek “I shall” his chin “outlaw” a smack to the nose “blowjobs.”

Blaine draws away, his face twisting a look mock horror and for a moment all Kurt can see is Blaine  _before_ ; goofy, fun-loving, dorky Blaine. The one he’s been missing for two years and it makes Kurt’s breath catch in his throat.

“Anything but that,” Blaine breathes, pressing a hand over his heart. His eyes soften as he takes in the look on Kurt’s face, long, pale fingers wrapping around the ones over his heart.

“What?” Blaine asks, Kurt searching Blaine’s face with bright blue eyes. Kurt just lets his lips pull into a smile, Blaine’s following, obviously reassured, as Kurt lets his thumb stroke over the back of Blaine’s hand, leaning in to press a slow kiss to Blaine’s lips.

Blaine inhales sharply, his nose pressing into Kurt’s cheek, his lips soft and pliant under Kurt’s. Kurt just stays there and it’s not about the kiss, not really. It’s about  _Blaine_ , about being close and being able to curl up on the couch with the man he loves, with the man he’s never stopped loving, despite everything. The hand not trapped between their bodies reaches up, drifts over the back of Kurt’s neck, fingers brushing through the hair at the back of Kurt’s head, not tugging or pressing, just resting there. Feeling. Reassuring.

Kurt’s breath is shaky when he pulls away, Blaine looking up at him, eyes wide and shining. His hand pulls out of Kurt’s hair and Kurt feels a strange sense of loss, wishes he would have stayed a little longer. He can feel Blaine’s heart beating against his hand, fast and erratic, his other hand drifting to trace down Blaine’s cheek. Blaine’s mouth open like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, his tongue darting out instead to wet his lips.

“Come on,” Kurt says, pushing himself up off the couch, his hand never leaving Blaine’s. “I’ll help you shave.”

Blaine lets himself be pulled up, fingers tangling with Kurt’s, exactly where they belong.

 

  
_February 28, 2020_  

The first thing Kurt notices when he comes in the door is the smell. It’s spicy and warm, the smell of chicken and something Kurt can’t identify, mixed with the acrid scent of something burning. He hangs up his coat and puts away his boots, a frown creasing his face.

Until there’s a loud  _crash_ , a curse and a whine and Kurt’s shoes are left toppled in the entryway as he races towards the sound. His heart leaps into his throat at the site of Blaine on the ground in the kitchen, Belle nuzzling anxiously next to him.  _Not again not again not again_. The words run through Kurt’s head even as a breath of relief escapes him when he realizes Blaine’s on his knees, his hands fumbling with something on the ground. He’s awake, he’s okay, it’s not happening again.

“Blaine?” Kurt takes a cautious step forward, moves around Belle to see what Blaine’s doing. There’s a plate shattered on the floor, clumsy fingers scrambling to collect the pieces.

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt says quietly, kneeling beside his fiancé, careful to avoid the shards of glass. Blaine’s fingers are red, Kurt can see now, blood dripping off the ends and staining the floor. Blaine doesn’t even acknowledge Kurt, doesn’t look up or say anything, just keeps trying to pick up the glass, biting his lip when another shard cuts into the end of his finger.

Kurt stays silent, knows no words will help, not yet, just reaches out and rests his hands on Blaine’s, drawing them up and away from the glass, stilling his movements. There’s the sharp sounds of heavy breathing, Blaine’s eyes squeezing shut. Kurt shifts until he’s pressed against Blaine’s side, one hand still cradling Blaine’s, the other reaching around to pull Blaine close. Belle crawls in closer, letting out a whine as she rests her head on Blaine’s knees, eyes looking up at him as if concerned.

“Just breathe for a moment,” Kurt whispers, rubs gentle circles on Blaine’s back. “Just breathe.”

Blaine listens, or Kurt thinks he does, his breathing evening out, his body relaxing into Kurt’s, his hands going lax in Kurt’s grip. They sit for awhile, Belle nuzzling against Blaine’s leg, Kurt stroking Blaine’s back, Blaine closing his eyes and just  _breathing_.

Surprise fills Kurt when Blaine’s the first to break the silence, a quiet “I’m sorry” whispered through barely moving lips.

“Why are you sorry?” Kurt asks, nudging Blaine lightly with his shoulder. Red creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt knows he’s embarrassed, so Kurt gives him time, lets him collect his words. After a moment Blaine shifts against him, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows a few times.

“I wanted…” he starts, pauses. “You’ve been working so… hard and… and… you’ve been so str-essed. I just wanted… to do something for you.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt, eyes wide and ashamed. “I had a whole… a whole night planned but I can’t even…” he looks back at the broken plate, “I can’t even make dinner.”

Kurt’s silent a moment, feels Blaine closing in and shutting down beside him. He counts to one hundred, lets Blaine catch his breath before shifting to grip Blaine’s elbow, a secure hand behind his back, the motion familiar and practiced after all this time. Anchoring Blaine against him, Kurt stands, Blaine following without protest. It’s now that Kurt notices what Blaine’s wearing, dark jeans and a simple black button down, topped with the gray vest he knows was his favorite for teaching. It’s a startling contrast from the t-shirts and sweatpants he usually wears and something tightens inside him knowing Blaine dressed up for  _him_.

Kurt leads him to the sink, gets a warm stream of water going before guiding Blaine’s hands under, washing away the blood on his fingers. Blaine hisses and Kurt winces in sympathy, turns Blaine’s hands over to inspect closer. There are a few cuts on his fingertips, a bigger gash on his palm and Blaine tenses when Kurt gently prods at it.

“I’ll be right back,” Kurt says, presses a kiss just below Blaine’s earlobe. Belle stays obediently by Blaine’s side as Kurt leaves the room, finds the first aid kit in the bathroom, pulls out some bandages and ointment, grabs a few towels before making his way back. Blaine’s still standing at the sink, hands still under the water, exactly as Kurt left him. Kurt draws in a deep breath and mentally prepares himself to just be  _here_  for Blaine, to be what Blaine needs.

He sets the supplies on the counter and turn down the stream of water to a drizzle, taking Blaine’s hands and dabbing them dry with a towel. The cuts on his fingers have mostly stopped bleeding, the gash on his palm still oozing.

“Here,” Kurt gives some bandages for Blaine to hold in his right hand while Kurt dabs some antibiotic ointment on the cuts before taking the bandages from Blaine one at a time and wrapping them around his fingers. He presses gauze into Blaine’s palm, wraps a bandage around his hand and ties it securely in place. Blaine’s eyes are on his hands, his teeth chewing at his bottom lip.

“Sorry I broke the plate,” he whispers and Kurt knows his apology is about so much more than the plate.

“It’s just a plate,” Kurt responds, gently readjusting his grip on Blaine’s left hand and pressing a kiss to the end of each bandaged finger. “There. I kissed it better so you don’t need to  be sorry anymore, okay?”

The faintest hint of a smile tugs at Blaine’s lips.

“I think you missed a spot,” he says, voice still quiet and wary but his eyes are brighter and Kurt’s heart beats a little easier now that Blaine’s not going to completely close up and break down. He raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly over the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Did I?”

Blaine nods, his right hand pointing at his lips. Kurt smiles and shakes his head but leans in to press a lingering kiss to Blaine’s lips.

“You’re so rom-com,” Kurt whispers against his lips. Blaine blushes and looks down. He’s better, but he’s not completely _here_ , not yet.

“Come on,” Kurt says. “Help me clean this up and then you can continue your plan to woo me.”

Kurt hands Blaine a dust pan and has him sit on the ground while Kurt sweeps up the broken shards of glass. It would be easy to take Blaine to the living room, have him sit and wait while Kurt cleans up everything, fixes dinner. But Kurt knows, that’s not what Blaine  _needs_. What he needs is to finish what he started, to know that he  _can_  do this, he can have a successful night, even with a few hiccups on the way there.

After the glass is thrown away, Kurt helps Blaine to his feet, peering at the stove.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

Blaine just shrugs. “I think I ruined it.”

“Hmm,” Kurt gives the pan of stir-fry on the stove a stir. “ I think we can salvage most of this.”

He switches the burner off and turns back to Blaine.

“It smells delicious.”

Blaine gives a humorless laugh. “It smells burned.”

Kurt ignores him, glances around the kitchen. Blaine’s still sitting on the floor, Belle beside him.

“Stay there,” Kurt instructs. “We’ll forgo plates tonight, I think.”

Blaine looks confused but doesn’t say anything, just accepts the bag of chips Kurt hands down to him. Kurt sets out one of the cloth napkins his grandmother had given to him years ago in front of Blaine, places this pan on top of it before plopping down beside Blaine.

“There,” Kurt opens the bag of chips, examines the stir-fry until he finds a piece of broccoli that isn’t black, and scoops it up on a chip. “Perfect. Here.”

Blaine accepts the chip, but doesn’t eat it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, like Kurt has finally lost it. Kurt smiles broadly.

“We’re having a picnic,” he responds before scooping up a piece of chicken on his own chip and eating it. It’s a little burned, a little too salty, but to Kurt it tastes perfect because Blaine made it, Blaine spent the day struggling over recipes and ingredients and so many steps to make this just for Kurt.

“We’re having a picnic… on the kitchen floor?” Blaine’s voice is losing its edge, the soft despair that so often creeps into it replaced by the beginnings of amusement.

“Are you comfortable, Belle?” Kurt asks smoothly. Belle perks her ears at the sound of her name but doesn’t lift her head.

“She’s comfortable,” Kurt says, looking back to Blaine and Blaine actually  _laughs_ , the sound bright and crisp. He relents and nibbles at his chip.

“This is ter… terrible.” He pulls a face.

“It’s not that bad,” Kurt tries to reassure, bumping his shoulder lightly with Blaine’s. “I needed a little extra sodium in my diet anyways.”

Blaine blushes and laughs again. “Maybe I’ll start… practicing recipes at occu-occupational.”

Kurt nods, digs through to pick out another non-burned, overly-salty piece. “Then you can woo me every week.”

An actual giggle makes its way from Blaine, and he nudges back against Kurt.

“Until I screw up and you get food… food poisoning.”

Kurt chuckles. “And it will still be far better than anything Rachel has ever cooked us.”

Blaine just smiles and looks down, can only keep his confidence up for so long.

“Hey,” Kurt says, trying to keep Blaine in the moment, knows how easy it is for him to slip away. “How about we have dessert for dinner?”

A faint smile and “okay.”  

Kurt leans in to peck Blaine on the cheek before pushing himself to his feet and making his way to the fridge.

“Dessert is both delicious and romantic, it’s a proven fact,” he says as he rummages around in the freezer.

“Proven?”

“Yes. By scientists.”

“The same scientist that said… imported silk sheets pro… prolongs your life?”

“Exactly.”

Kurt sits down with a carton of strawberries, a tub of whip cream, and half a box of ice cream. It’s sweet and messy and sticky and Belle eagerly licks up the dropped spoonfuls of ice cream. Kurt tells Blaine about his day, Blaine interjecting now and then to add a comment. Blaine tells Kurt about the call Cooper made, about how he’s still looking for tickets so Blaine can come to L.A. It’s an easy conversation and Kurt can’t keep the smile off his face when he watches Blaine pop a strawberry into his mouth, a dab of whip cream sticking to the end of his nose.

“You’ve got some…” Kurt starts, trails off when Blaine looks at him, eyelashes sweeping his cheeks as he tries to look at his nose, pink rising into his cheeks with embarrassment. Kurt stops his hand from coming up, leans forward and swipes the whip cream off with his tongue. Blaine’s eyes are wide as he looks at Kurt, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That… that was kind of gross,” Blaine teases lightly.

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t want me to do this,” Kurt kisses his nose again, “or this,” a kiss to the cheek, “or this,” a kiss to the chin, “and  _definitely_  not this,” finally landing a kiss on Blaine’s lips.

Blaine hums against him. “I take it back.”

“Good,” Kurt’s voice is low, lips moving against Blaine’s, reluctant to let go. “I would hate to not be able to do this.”

He shifts until he’s practically in Blaine’s lap, on hand securely on Blaine’s shoulder, the other tracing down his side, tongue teasing Blaine’s bottom lip.

“We can just…” Blaine starts, voice barely above a whisper, “skip to the last thing I had planned for tonight.”

Kurt opens his mouth to respond but then Blaine’s  _there_ , tongue sliding in, still tasting like strawberries and Kurt moans because it’s been so long since Blaine’s taken control like this. There’s still the nervous tinge to his motions, his tongue cautiously tracing Kurt’s, his hands hesitating slightly as they grab Kurt’s arms, but there’s confidence too, a pull reminiscent of Blaine  _before_.

Blaine’s moving, pushing back against Kurt, the kiss growing more forceful, more desperate. His foot kicks over the carton of strawberries and they spill, rolling onto the kitchen floor but neither of them cares. Kurt’s hand tangles in the curls at the base of Blaine’s neck, anchoring himself and holding Blaine close while Blaine crawls until he’s half-straddling Kurt, hands fumbling with the hem of Kurt’s shirt. Blaine sucks Kurt’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue tracing the edge, and for a moment Kurt loses himself. Loses the memories of the past two years, of struggles and setbacks and tears.

Until Belle whines beside them, nosing at a loose strawberry and looking up at them expectantly. They both laugh as they pull apart, Kurt untangling his hands from Blaine’s hair to give Belle a pat on the head.

“How about we relocate to the bedroom?”

Blaine’s eyes grow dark for a moment, nervousness flickering across his face before he nods. They gather up the strawberries; Kurt puts everything back in its proper location and extends a hand down to help Blaine to his feet, careful of his bandages.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner,” Kurt says when Blaine’s steady beside him.

“It was a disaster,” Blaine counters, looking mournfully at the pan in the sink.

Kurt touches a quick peck to Blaine’s cheek. “It was perfect. I am wooed.”

Blaine’s steps grow more hesitant as they approach the bedroom and Kurt stops, looks at him with concern.

“What is it?”

Blaine bites his lip, eyes meeting Kurt’s earnestly. “I, um, I wanted this night to be special, for you. So, um, let me lead? Please?”

And Kurt feels another swell, his heart suddenly too big for his chest. Blaine looks so nervous and yet so determined and Kurt can’t do anything except nod.

“Okay,” Blaine says, untangling his fingers from Kurt’s. “Wait here then.”

Blaine guides himself with the wall and Kurt notices he’s walking much better lately, his balance steadier, his steps more sure and strong, almost back to where he was before his setback. Kurt knows it’s been hard for Blaine, to have gotten so far and then have everything he’s been working at, everything he’s been working for pushed back and taken away. But he hasn’t given up, Kurt won’t let him give up, is doing everything he can to make this  _okay_  again. And it is. Blaine’s been happier, been livelier, been  _Blaine_.

“Don’t… don’t laugh,” Blaine’s voice interrupts his thoughts, leaning against the door frame. He holds his hand out and Kurt takes it, the motion still so natural after all these years. Blaine pulls him into the bedroom and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat.

The lights are dimmed, candles flickering all around the room, causing shadows to dance across the floor. The bed is freshly made, a single red rose resting on Kurt’s pillow.

“Blaine,” Kurt breaths, stepping forward to take the rose in his free hand.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Blaine explains, hand squeezing Kurt’s tightly. “I want to do something for you.”

He takes the rose from Kurt’s fingers, sets it carefully on the bedside table before sitting on the bed, pulling Kurt down with him. Blaine looks so hopeful, so sincere that its everything Kurt can do to keep the tears from pricking at his eyes. Blaine looks straight into his eyes, his thumb stroking over Kurt’s hand, leans forward and their lips are touching. This kiss is different. This kiss isn’t rushed, desperate, frantic. It’s soft, lingering, full of all the promises they’ve made, everything they hold and share. It’s full of  _each other_.

Kurt inhales sharply, Blaine pushing slightly forward, pressing against Kurt until he pulls away, lips sticking together.

“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt says when he finds his breath. “So much.”

Blaine’s eyes are bright and there’s color high on his cheeks.

“I want to blow you.”

Kurt blinks, the words unexpected, tries to find his voice but it seems to have left with his brain.

“Is that okay?” Blaine asks, sounding slightly unnerved by Kurt’s silence. “I know I won’t be very good but I’ve been practicing and…”

Kurt cuts off Blaine’s rushed words. “You’ve been practicing?”

Red blooms across Blaine’s face and he looks down. “Yeah, um, on cucumbers.”

The image of Blaine, sitting home alone, practicing for  _this_ , pulls at Kurt in a way he wouldn’t have expected, his heart beginning to pound in his chest, warmth already beginning to pool low in his belly.

“Okay,” Kurt whispers, voice catching. “Yes. Blow me, please.”

And then there’s scrambling, Blaine’s fingers fumbling with the buttons of Kurt’s vest until Kurt helps, ridding himself of his shirt before kicking off his pants. Blaine clumsily pulls off his own shirt and pauses, eyes raking over Kurt’s body. He pushes Kurt until he’s pressed against the pillow, hands sliding down Kurt’s sides to his hips as he latches back onto Kurt’s lips.

“So forceful,” Kurt mumbles, the words meant to be teasing but losing their effect when Blaine swallows them down. Blaine’s thumbs press into Kurt’s hipbones and his lips move down Kurt’s jaw, latching onto the sensitive skin just above Kurt’s clavicle. His actions are passionate but slightly held back, and if the fluttering  _nervousexcitedaroused_  feeling in Kurt’s stomach is anything to go by, Blaine’s must be a million times amplified because this is all new for him.

Whether its actual memory or muscle memory, Blaine’s lips find every spot on Kurt that makes his toes curl, his breaths stutter. His tongue brushes over Kurt’s nipple, obviously pleased by way Kurt shudders under him when he repeats the motion, latching on to give a small suck. Kurt lifts his head to plant a kiss on the top of Blaine’s, Blaine detaching from Kurt’s nipple to meet Kurt’s lips with his own. They kiss for a few moments until Blaine gives a stilted laugh.

“What is it?”

“I’m sort of nervous,” Blaine admits. Kurt lifts his hand to stroke lightly down Blaine’s arm.

“Don’t be.”

Blaine purses his lips and Kurt knows he’s figuring out the best way to word this, to express his feelings.

“It’s just… what if I’m not as good as… as before? What if I suck?”

Kurt raises an eyebrow and Blaine blushes, lowers his forehead to rest against Kurt’s chest.

“Figuratively.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kurt reassures, hands moving to give Blaine’s shoulders a light massage. “It doesn’t matter because it’s _you,_  Blaine. And I love  _you._ ”

Blaine nuzzles against Kurt’s chest.

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Hey,” Kurt slides his hand from Blaine’s shoulder to cup his chin, making him raise his head and meet Kurt’s eyes. “Don’t be. I don’t care if it’s perfect or not, okay? Don’t stress about it.”

Blaine nods. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kurt says softly, brushing his thumb over Blaine’s cheek. “You don’t have to do this yet, if you’re not ready.”

“I want to,” Blaine responds quickly. “I really do.”

Kurt leans forward to smack Blaine’s lips before letting his head fall back against the pillows.

“Well then, Megatrons not getting any more excited by all this talking.”

Blaine snorts. “You named your dick Megatron?”

“No,  _you_  named it Megatron, don’t you remember?”

Blaine frowns, looking honestly perplexed. “No…”

“Good because I made that up,” Kurt says with a laugh and Blaine pulls away, face offended.

“Mood officially killed,” Blaine proclaims, crossing his arms over his chest. Kurt paws at Blaine’s arms, trying to get him back down, but Blaine shakes his head.

“Blaaaaine,” Kurt whines, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“It’s too bad because… because I had something else I want to… to try, after.”

Kurt whines playfully, bats at Blaine.

“But you had to,” Blaine pauses here, frowns slightly as he collects his words. “You had to go and make fun of my memory.”

There’s a thump as Blaine falls forward onto Kurt, Kurt’s hands holding him in place as he peppers kisses all over Blaine’s face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Kurt says, and Blaine eyes him warily. “I’ll never do it again. Promise.”

Blaine hums, his nose bumping Kurt’s.

“Your face was priceless though,” Kurt says with a smile.

“You’re walking a thin… line,” Blaine warns though there’s no weight to his voice.

“Hmm,” Kurt pulls Blaine back down to his lips. “I like to live dangerously.”

Blaine makes a noise that’s halfway between a whine and a growl as his lips meet Kurt’s with a new vigor, so unlike the Blaine Kurt’s grown used to. Kurt opens his mouth willingly, Blaine’s tongue slipping in, his hand tracing down Kurt’s side, teasing at the crease of his hip. Kurt feels charged, like his blood has been replaced with electricity, sizzling and cracking through his veins; every touch of Blaine’s hands, newly calloused from his guitar, every tiny noise in his throat and swipe of his tongue sends a spark of arousal through his body.

Teeth lightly scrape Kurt’s lip, a hand dipping low and Kurt can’t stop his hips from rolling up, a moan escaping his throat at the too-harsh friction of the jeans Blaine’s still wearing. Confidence seems to be renewed in Blaine, his lips more sure as they travel down Kurt’s neck, nipping and sucking and it feels so  _good_ , in a way Kurt hasn’t felt in over two years, that he’s almost embarrassingly sure he could come just from this.

Until Blaine’s pulling away, scooting himself down on the bed before planting a softer kiss on Kurt’s hip. He seems hesitant again but he doesn’t slow, hands working their way down Kurt’s thighs as he mouths softly at the crease of his hip.

Kurt wants to reassure him, wants to tell him  _it’s okay, don’t be scared_ , wants to do a million things in that moment but he can’t, his voice caught in his throat and even if he could… everything feels so poignant, so  _real_ , this moment to the next, Blaine’s heavy breaths, his hands slightly sweaty with nerves, the tender way that he alternates between using his lips and tongue on the sensitive skin of Kurt’s lower belly. He wants this to be  _Blaine_ , everything Blaine, Blaine who thinks he needs encouragement, but he’s so strong already, and he can do anything he puts his mind to.

And then he’s there, lips touching the head of Kurt’s cock and Kurt’s breath stutters, hands fisting in the blankets as Blaine’s tongue swirls over the head, teasing the slit. Kurt makes a noise that he thinks is a word but more comes out as a moan when Blaine’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, lips forming a ring as he sinks down a few inches, tongue flattening out. He gives an experimental suck, and Kurt fights every instinct to keep from thrusting into Blaine’s mouth.

“G-god,” he manages and he can feel Blaine smiling around him, sinking down a little further. The left side of Blaine’s mouth can’t quite close in the way he wants, and it does feel different from how Kurt remembers but nothing else. Just different.

Blaine’s tongue traces over a vein, heat coiling and building in Kurt’s belly, and he doesn’t even bother to stop the groan that escapes him.

“Blaine, you feel so good,” Kurt breathes, a hand reaching to tangle lightly in Blaine’s curls. Blaine hums, bobbing down a few more inches and Kurt can’t stop himself, his hips thrusting up on impulse. He can feel himself hitting the back of Blaine’s throat, Blaine choking as he pushes himself off. His eyes are watering as he coughs and Kurt immediately feels bad, pushes himself into a up from the pillows.

“Blaine, I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologizes as Blaine wipes his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine responds quickly, voice a little gruff. “I’m fine. Just… was that okay?”

“Oh god, Blaine. More than okay.”

Blaine nods, leans forward to kiss the skin right below Kurt’s belly button.

“Good,” he says softly, his hand wrapping back around Kurt, his grip a little too loose as he pumps a few times, his movements a little jerky. Kurt lets himself fall back on the pillows just as Blaine’s thumb brushes right under the head, and he needs Blaine’s mouth on him again, his whole body vibrating with want.

He means to say as much but it comes out more as a garbled “hng Blaine  _more_.” Blaine obliges with more confidence, his tongue tracing along a thick vein before taking Kurt back in his mouth. This time hands rest on Kurt’s hips, anchoring him to the bed and Kurt immediately tangles his fingers in Blaine’s curls. He’s already embarrassingly close, the feel of Blaine’s mouth after so long, the sight of Blaine swallowing him down, the tender care with which Blaine works, tries so, so hard to make this good for Kurt. It swells through Kurt, races with the electricity in his veins, builds low in his belly, escapes his throat with a moan.

Blaine sinks down, takes as much of Kurt in his mouth as he can, his thumb stroking over the charged skin near his hip, humming deep in his throat. Kurt knows he’s not going to last, barely has time to tug at Blaine’s hair in warning, Blaine releasing him with a smack and he’s arching up, Blaine’s hands stroking him softly through as he comes.

When Kurt blinks his eyes open, Blaine’s there, leaning down to catch Kurt’s lips softly with his own. Kurt’s still to buzzed from his orgasm to respond, lets Blaine nuzzle against him, lips sliding together, hands searching over too-sensitive skin.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” Kurt murmurs, pressing his own kiss back onto Blaine’s lips.

“I plan to do lots of practicing,” Blaine says with a smile, lips lazily making their way down Kurt’s jaw. His hips roll against Kurt’s leg and Kurt’s attention turns back to Blaine, mustering up the energy to shift until he’s on his side, hands reaching down to work at Blaine’s belt. Blaine lifts his hips to rid himself of his pants, throwing them into a heap beside the bed and then he’s back, red flushing across his chest in anticipation.

And as Kurt watches eyelashes flutter dark against Blaine’s cheeks, lips parting ever so slightly, skin shining with sweat, he wants nothing more than to make Blaine feel as good as just felt. He wants to cover every inch of Blaine’s kiss with kisses, to be consumed in each other, hot skin against skin, nothing else mattering except this moment.

Hands fumble to Blaine’s shoulders, pushing him back onto the mattress, legs on either side of Blaine’s hips.

“Can I try something?” Kurt asks, hands gliding over Blaine’s sides. Blaine nods, eyes half lidded, hands catching Kurt’s and tangling their fingers.

“Anything,” he responds, voice low and breathy.

“You can tell me if it’s too much,” Kurt says, locking Blaine’s eyes to make sure he understands. Blaine nods and Kurt fumbles to snatch the lube out of the bedside table. He keeps his eyes locked with Blaine’s as he opens the bottle with a click, coats his fingers. Blaine lets his legs fall further open, trying to allow Kurt better access but Kurt just shakes his head, a smile teasing his lips as he reaches behind himself. Hazel eyes widen, pupils dark with desire, as Kurt eases a finger inside himself.

Kurt his eyes flutter closed as he lets himself adjust to the stretch. He can feel Blaine’s hands sliding up his thighs and he bites his lip against a groan as he pushes in a second finger. It’s been nearly two years since Kurt has done this, hasn’t felt right fingering himself without Blaine, and it takes him a moment longer to get used to the feeling than it used to. When he opens his eyes Blaine is staring at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and Kurt can feel color rising into his cheeks.

“Here,” Kurt says, pulling out his own fingers and coating Blaine’s with lube. “I trust you.”

The words are whispered as he leads Blaine’s hand behind him, guides a single finger to press against him. Blaine’s face is focused, determined and so, so full of love as he pushes forward, eases his finger into Kurt and Kurt whimpers, hands falling to either side of Blaine’s shoulders.

“More,” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s ear, back arching as Blaine slides another finger in, giving Kurt a moment to adjust before he scissors, stretching and opening Kurt. Kurt presses his forehead against Blaine’s, his breath coming out in soft gasps and Blaine works him open with a gentleness that’s so  _Blaine_.

“More,” Kurt whispers again and Blaine’s breath catches as he works in a third finger, Kurt pushing back against him, wanting, craving,  _needing_  Blaine to fill him up and consume him. Blaine’s fingers move inside him, feeling, searching for what Kurt needs, but his movements are still a little awkward and he huffs in frustration. Kurt presses his lips to Blaine’s, swallowing down any apology he’s about to make, hips rocking slowly back on Blaine’s fingers, tongue easing its way into Blaine’s mouth.

They stay like this for a moment, sweat building on their bodies, panting softly into each other’s mouth, Blaine’s fingers stroking gently inside Kurt until Blaine shifts and a spark shoots through Kurt, a gasp escaping him as he bites down lightly on Blaine’s lip. Blaine smiles and repeats the motion, Kurt’s grip on his shoulder tightening as he arches back with pleasure. Until he’s pulling away suddenly, eyes raking over Blaine’s body, spread out and so, so open under him.

“I need you,” Kurt breathes, scrambling for the condom he had pulled out, shaking hands struggling to open it. “I need you, god, so much.” Blaine slowly withdraws his fingers, and Kurt can see the exact moment when he registers what’s going to happen, eyes widening and breath stopping.

Kurt rolls the condom onto Blaine, adds a liberal amount of lube, Blaine squirming under him at his gentle touch.

“Are you ready?” Kurt asks, leaning forward once more to touch a kiss to Blaine’s forehead. Blaine nods, manages a throaty _yes_ , and Kurt sits back up, takes Blaine’s cock in his hand, lowers himself until it presses lightly against his entrance. Hazel eyes lock with his, unspoken reassurance passed between them and Kurt bites his lip and holds his breath as he lowers himself down. The stretch is almost painful, after so long without, but it feels  _right_ , Blaine filling him, completing him in that way Blaine always has.

Hands grip Kurt’s thighs, Blaine’s head arching back when Kurt lowers himself all the way, exposing the long curve of his neck, the dip at the base of his throat. Kurt lets them adjust to the feeling, so new and yet so familiar, his hands stroking down the exposed skin of Blaine’s ribs, down over his stomach, following the lines of Blaine’s body until he meets Blaine’s hands at his thighs, fingers turning up and tangling with his own.

Heat that has nothing to do with the fire building in his belly stings at his eyes and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in his tears. Tears at the sight of Blaine, so open and trusting and loving and Kurt can barely believe they’ve made it _here_ , to this moment, their  _everything_  connecting, filling them up in a way Kurt can’t even begin to describe.

He tightens his grip on Blaine’s hands, slowly rocking his hips forward and Blaine groans under him, squeezing back against Kurt’s hands, hips pushing up against Kurt. Kurt rolls forward again, a little more urgently, unable to deny the heat building at the base of his spine.

“K-kurt,” Blaine gasps, his lips working to say something more but his breath catches when Kurt pulls himself up before rocking back down. He repeats the motion, his nails digging into Blaine’s hands at the intense pleasure that shoots through his body before slowing, worried that he might be overwhelming Blaine.

“Don’t,” Blaine protests, head lifting to meet Kurt’s eyes. “Don’t stop, please.”

And Kurt doesn’t stop, keeps rolling his hips, rocking up and back down, Blaine occasionally losing control and thrusting up against him, and everything is building, building, building. Sweat drips in lines down his back, his hair sticking to his forehead and he doesn’t even care, every thought consumed by this moment, by Blaine, by the edge creeping so close.

Blaine comes first, back arching up and hands squeezing Kurt’s, a cry on his lips, the sight enough to tip Kurt over and he falls boneless on top of Blaine, not caring about the sticky mess caught between them. Blaine’s lungs are heaving under him, his skin glowing, red high on his cheeks, and Kurt’s sure he’s never seen anyone look so beautiful. His eyes slide open, dark with blown pupils, a tired smile pulling at his lips. Kurt presses a kiss under his jaw, nuzzles his face into Blaine’s neck.

“I love you,” Kurt murmurs into Blaine’s skin, can feel Blaine’s lips in his hair.

“I love you too.”

Kurt shifts until he can see Blaine’s face, slightly disgusted by the sweat and come drying on their bodies but that can wait until later, he wants this moment to last as long as possible. Lips seek out his own and they kiss slowly for a few moments as their breathing calms, Kurt tingling from his toes to his scalp.

“Marry me.” The words leave his lips before he ever thinks about them. Blaine chuckles, drops another kiss against his lips.

“I already am, silly.”

Kurt blinks, face serious and he climbs so he’s looking Blaine straight in the face, a hand gripping Blaine’s tightly.

“No, I mean now. Tomorrow.”

Blaine’s brow furrows. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes. I don’t care about a big wedding or people or anything,” Kurt says, thumb stroking across the back of Blaine’s hand, completely serious. “I just want you to be my husband. I want to be yours forever.”

Blaine smiles, his eyes soft as his free hand traces the edge of Kurt’s jaw.

“You are mine. Forever. And I am yours.”

Kurt nods, pulls Blaine’s hand against his heart.

“Good, then let’s get married. We can go to the courthouse and a judge can do it, I don’t care. The courthouse is open on Saturdays, right? We don’t even have to tell anyone right away, we can have a reception later or something. I’m tired of waiting.”

“I am too,” Blaine breathes, but his smile falters slightly. “What about your dad? Carole? My parents?”

“They’ll understand,” Kurt says quickly, tries to kiss away Blaine’s concerns before pulling back slightly and brushing their noses in an Eskimo kiss. “Please marry me, Blaine.”

“I will,” Blaine says, laughing when Kurt’s nose tickles his skin. “I will, I promise. God, I want to marry you. Just, not tomorrow.”

Kurt lets his lower lip jut out into a pout, even though now that the frantic moment has passed he knows he was rushing, was acting on impulse.

“We’ll set a date,” Blaine continues, voice reassuring. “We’ll make it of... official. For as soon as we can.”

Kurt pouts a moment longer until Blaine tries to poke his lower lip back in and he laughs.

“Okay,” Kurt agrees, squeezing Blaine’s hand in agreement. “We’ll set a date.”

A million kisses have been shared tonight, but Kurt figures one more can’t hurt, lips sealing their promise. Until Kurt pulls away, looking down at himself and making a face.

“Come on, future husband. I refuse to sleep like this.” Blaine groans but sits up, Kurt’s hand in his the whole time. “Shower with me.”

And they leave the bed, the taste of forever still on their lips.


	19. At the End of the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine chuckles and the sound is like gold in Janessa’s ears. It’s been so long since she’s seen Blaine this happy, since she hasn’t been greeted by the dull eyes of someone who wants to give up.

_December 4th, 2018_

Maybe it’s the twenty ounces of coffee in her veins, the smile on Blaine’s face, or the way Kurt had given Blaine two goodbye kisses this morning. Maybe it’s just something in the air, the magic of the snow falling outside, but Janessa has a very good feeling about today.

She spends the first part of the morning shoveling snow from the driveway while Blaine practices writing his letters inside. The old lady next door comes out to bring her a cup of hot chocolate and she chats with her for a few minutes, knows she’s probably lonely for company. Kurt should invite her over for dinner sometime, she thinks. Maybe she’ll bring it up to him.

“I think your neighbor is hitting on me,” Janessa says when she comes back inside, kicking the snow off her boots in the entrance and hanging up her coat. Blaine looks up at her and smiles for the second time that day when she collapses on the chair beside him, setting her half empty hot chocolate on the table.

“She keeps giving me chocolate and asking me if you need anything.” Janessa narrows her eyes and pokes Blaine lightly in the chest. “Maybe it’s  _you_  she likes.”

Blaine chuckles and the sound is like gold in Janessa’s ears. It’s been so long since she’s seen Blaine this happy, since she hasn’t been greeted by the dull eyes of someone who wants to give up. She thinks talking has helped, being able to communicate, no matter how stilted and awkward it is for now (she believes, she  _knows_  he’ll get better) has allowed Blaine to share his frustrations and accomplishments in a way he hasn’t been able to since she’s known him.

“You want some of this?” she asks, gesturing towards the Styrofoam cup.

“Um,” Blaine starts, licking his lips, trying to force them to move in the way he needs them to. “Liquid?”

“They’ve been having you drink small sips of water, haven’t they?” Janessa points out and Blaine nods. “It’ll be just like that, except chocolate. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Blaine contemplates the cup in front of him like he’s trying to discover the meaning of life, not decide whether to drink some hot chocolate or not.

“Okay,” Blaine nods with a determined smile. Janessa smiles back, pushes the papers he was writing on to the side in case they spill, picks up the cup. Blaine tilts his head back slightly in that way they’ve been practicing and Janessa touches the cup to his lip and very, very carefully tips it forward. She lets barely more than a sip into Blaine’s mouth before pulling it back, Blaine’s lips closing, his eyes sliding shut as he focuses on swallowing. She can see his throat working, the way his jaw tenses because it takes so much more work for him to swallow something than most. And it’s just a tiny sip of hot chocolate.

“Can I…” Blaine trails off, lips tightening as he searches for the word. “A…nother?”

“Of course,” Janessa responds and Blaine parts his lips again, tips his head back just enough. This time Janessa helps Blaine wrap a hand around the cup, anchors his fingers there with her own but lets him do most of the work. Of course, Blaine’s hands are unsteady and tilts the cup just a little too far, hot chocolate flooding his mouth. Janessa pulls the cup away quickly and he works to swallow it but he just  _can’t_ , not yet. A little slips from his lips, down his chin and onto his shirt and he coughs, Janessa rubbing his back until he has control over his breathing again.

“You okay?” she asks, keeping her voice calm because she knows if she gets upset then Blaine will too; he’s so quick to feed off the emotions of others, to take them and multiply them to extremes. He coughs once more and nods, wipes the back of his hand across his chin. Janessa makes a face and pats his shirt off with a napkin.

“Oops,” he says sheepishly and Janessa’s relieved she doesn’t need to do damage control. It’s so easy for Blaine to be set off by little things and it can take so long to get him back down again.

“You did good, ma man,” Janessa smiles, downing the rest of the hot chocolate (she’s shared enough food with Blaine that neither of them really care anymore). “You’re getting good at that.”

Blaine blushes and looks down, fingers pulling at the fabric of his sleeves.

“How was writing?” Janessa asks, changing the subject. Blaine shrugs. He’s been trying to journal, which Janessa thinks is very ambitious of him, but Kurt supports it fully. He can’t write much, easily loses track of what he was saying, or can’t think of the right words to express what he has to say, and each entry is only a few sentences long. But his handwriting has increased to actually legible and it’s definitely helped with working on his thought process.

“Fine,” he replies after a moment, and Janessa smiles at him. She’s learned a lot about Blaine over the past months, when to press and when to back off, when to push him and when to let him do things at his own pace. Today she knows Blaine needs to set his own stride, to do what he can and be pushed when he doubts.

“Let’s see, we have…” Janessa cranes her neck, “three hours until therapy. How should we spend it?”

“Um…” Blaine bites his lip, narrows his eyes. “Kurt, um, asked me… to…”

He huffs in frustration as he tries to find the right words. Janessa waits patiently, her hand reaching to give Blaine’s knee an encouraging squeeze.

“Hamper,” he gets out after a moment, looking at Janessa to help him out. She knows what Kurt asked, he asked her as well before he left, but she knows it’s important for Blaine to make the connection, to come up with the words himself.

“What about the hamper?” she asks, tucking her feet under her in the chair. Blaine thinks, glancing in the direction of the room he’s trying to get out.

“Do… um… laundry,” he manages, a successful smile on his face.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Janessa agrees, springing to her feet. She stops behind Blaine’s chair. “Me or you?”

Blaine doesn’t answer, just grips the wheels in his own hands, starts to push himself across the room. It’s slow going and Janessa trails behind him patiently, darts to grab the hamper from the bedroom.

“Keep that up and you’ll have some serious guns,” Janessa remarks, watching Blaine’s biceps tense as he keeps pushing himself forward. “Kurt won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

Blaine lets out a sharp scoff, something Janessa hasn’t heard from him before.

“What’s that about?” she asks as they enter the laundry room. There’s something in Blaine’s eyes, something in the way he quickly looks at the pile of clothes that tells her there’s more than he’s letting on, more than he’s been  _able_ to let on in a long time. Blaine shrugs.

“Come on,” Janessa sets the clothes down, sits on the rickety fold out chair. “My boyfriend gets that exact look when he doesn’t want to talk about something. What’s going on?”

Red starts to creep across Blaine’s cheeks, his lips tightening in that way they do when he gets upset.

“Was it what I said?” Janessa asks, and she thinks she has an idea about what’s bothering him. “About Kurt not keeping his hands off you?”

A small nod.

“Can you try and tell me what’s wrong?” she asks and this is the push she was thinking about earlier.

Blaine purses his lips for a moment and Janessa can’t help but think what good muscle movement that was.

“He, um, he wouldn’t… want to,” Blaine manages, tripping over the Ws, before adding, “anyways.”

“Hey now,” Janessa rests her hand on Blaine’s knee. “Why do you think that?”

There’s a pause and Blaine digs his thumb into his knee before speaking.

“I’m… worthless”

Janessa blinks. “Woah there, back up, okay?”

Blaine bites his lip and she can see him start to blink rapidly, bottled up emotions rising to the surface. This was always going to happen, she knows. Blaine’s gotten frustrated and angry so many times, has been dejected and lifeless, has gone through a whole spectrum of emotions since she started working with him. But he’s never really been able to communicate these, has only recently begun to really comprehend and come to terms with what happened to him. And now he’s starting to understand, he’s developing a view of himself, of his relationship with Kurt, of what he can and can’t do, and she knows it’s going to be hard for him to come to terms with.

“I mean…” Blaine digs his thumb further into his leg until Janessa gently grabs his hand, keeping him from hurting himself. “I can’t…”

“You can’t? What can’t you do?” Janessa asks when Blaine trails off, knows he’ll need encouragement to get this all out. “Why do you think you’re worthless?”

Blaine’s fingers flex in hers briefly.

“I can’t… anything.”

“You can do lots of things, Blaine,” she smiles at him encouragingly. “Every day I see you do so many new things.”

Blaine stares at their joined hands.

“Are you upset about something with Kurt?” Janessa asks. She can see Blaine growing slightly uncomfortable and she’ll stop prodding if he gets too upset, but she knows he needs to get this out or it will stick with him all day. And maybe she can help him deal with this, whatever it is that’s suddenly made its way to the surface.

“No,” Blaine responds after a moment, voice cautious. “…me. I can’t… with, um, with him.”

Janessa squeezes his hand and Blaine steels his jaw.

“Why would Kurt…” a deep breath, “…ever, um, want me? I can’t even…” Blaine looks down, red creeping into his cheeks, “…even kiss him.”

“Oh Blaine,” Janessa sighs and Blaine shifts uncomfortably. “Kurt loves you  _so_  much, and he doesn’t care if you kiss him or not.”

“He…” Blaine clears his throat, waits a moment before trying again. “He hasn’t… kiss-kissed me.”

“I distinctly remember someone getting two goodbye kisses this morning.”

“Not…” Blaine motions to his lips and Janessa understands. Blaine believes because Kurt hasn’t kissed him yet, hasn’t touched him like he used to, that Kurt doesn’t want him anymore. At least not in that way.

“Blaine, have you ever considered that Kurt just doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable?  He doesn’t want to do anything you’re not ready to do yet, even if it’s just kisses.”

Blaine is silent, his face thoughtful.

“Maybe you should let him know? He wants cues from you, about what’s okay.”

“From… from me?” Blaine’s voice is quiet and he sounds so lost, so confused that Janessa is struck with the urge to gather him into her arms and just hold him for awhile. Instead she just nods.

“I can’t.”

“Have you tried?”

The slightest shake of his head.

“Then how do you know you can’t?”

Blaine avoids her eyes and Janessa sighs.

“Don’t be stubborn,” she reprimands lightly before raising their joined hands and pressing a kiss to Blaine’s fingers. “There, that’s not so hard. Now you do it.”

Blaine hesitates, looking at her skeptically before she takes the lead, lifting their hands and presenting the back of hers.

“Kiss me, fair prince,” Janessa says in an airy voice, earning her an eye roll before Blaine leans slightly forward, pressing cautious lips to her hand. She can’t keep the smile off her face as Blaine lingers a brief second, pulling away with a blush creeping into his cheeks. Janessa lifts her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon as Blaine lets go of her.

“You’ve won my heart,” she says with a wink, before turning serious. “Really, Blaine. You can do this. Kiss Kurt and show him how much you want this.”

Blaine begins to dig his thumb into his leg again before Janessa swats his hand and he looks at her apologetically.

“I can’t… just walk,” inhale, exhale, “walk up a…and kiss him.”

“So kiss him sitting down, goof.” Janessa smiles at him. “Now you’re just looking for excuses.”  
  
She pauses.

“Kurt’s not the only one in this relationship. You have to let him know what you want too.”

“W-what…” Blaine huffs as he stumbles over the W, “…if I… I don’t want… more?”

“Then kisses are enough for Kurt, I promise. You need to communicate with him. Kurt loves you and only wants to go as far as you want to go, okay?”

Blaine gives a nod and Janessa knows he’s talked out, has talked more today than she’s heard him yet.

“So lights or darks?”

Blaine blinks, trying to process the abrupt change of conversation. Janessa motions down at the hamper of clothes and Blaine can’t help but laugh. He decides on darks and they spend the next few minutes sorting through clothes, Janessa helping Blaine to pour the laundry detergent and start the machine.

After they decide to make some lunch. Janessa lets Blaine pick it out and he chooses creamy butternut squash soup with toast and Janessa can’t keep the smile off her face as they cook. The Blaine beside her, carefully pulling out pieces of bread and setting them in the toaster, is so different from the Blaine of just a few months ago. Just getting Blaine to make decisions has always been a challenge, and even a week ago he wouldn’t have been so ready with an answer of what to have for lunch, or so eager to help make it.

They dip the toast in the soap to help soften it and Blaine listens intently as Janessa rambles about a movie she saw the weekend before. He holds the syringe when Janessa tubes him the half a can of meal replacer he gets for a boost in protein and calories. She pats his belly when they’re done, unhooking the feeding tube.

“We’ve got to fatten you up,” she says and Blaine pushes her hand away with an exasperated sigh.

“…sound li-ike my mom,” he mutters and Janessa chuckles.

“Well it’s true, skinny man,” she says and starts doing the dishes, Blaine rolling his eyes before he grabs the pen to finish his journaling.

-  
 _An Excerpt from Blaine's journal_  
  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/preciousmellow/pic/0000agdx/)  
  
-

It’s starting to snow when they leave for physical therapy and Janessa groans at the thought of all her shoveling going to waste. They’re fifteen minutes late due to traffic and she pushes him through the rehab hospital like a crazy person on a mission, making racecar noises at every turn and Blaine hides his face in embarrassment.

But they get there and Janessa pushes blonde hair from her face, greeting Ted as he walks up to them.

“Sorry,” Janessa apologizes, still panting from the rush. “Blaine held us up. You know how long it takes him to powder his nose.”

Blaine reaches out to swat Janessa’s leg and she returns with a playful punch to his shoulder.

“Well you made it and that’s what’s important,” Ted says, taking the wheelchair from Janessa and pushing Blaine up to his usual padded bench. Janessa hangs back for a minute, watching as Ted helps Blaine onto the bench (secretly, she’s still trying to figure out how Ted manages to style his hair in such a careful  _I just got out of bed_  mess). Blaine likes Ted, she can tell. He’s easy going and has a way of pushing Blaine at the pace he needs, of giving him confidence where he lacked it before. And if there’s anything Blaine needs, its confidence.

“Has Janessa been giving you trouble?” Ted asks as he starts working on Blaine’s range of motion, bending each joint and loosening Blaine up. Blaine just nods in response. He feels self-conscious talking to people he’s not as comfortable with, Janessa knows, very aware of the way his words are choppy and slurred.

“We’ll just have to work on getting you strong enough to beat her up then, hmm?” Ted sends Janessa a wink as he straightens and bends Blaine’s knee. Blaine gives him a small nod, his hands reaching to grip the bench for stability. Ted has Blaine work on stretching for a while, complimenting him on how much his range has improved.

“Did you bring your new orthotics?” Ted asks, glancing at Janessa. She pulls the braces from Blaine’s therapy bag, hands them over. Ted examines them, giving them an approving nod.

“How are they feeling?” he asks, looking at Blaine.

“Fine,” Blaine answers quietly. Janessa wishes the smiling, talkative Blaine she’d seen this morning would come back out, but she knows he’s nervous, he’s always nervous for therapy, and she gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze as Ted sets about strapping the braces onto Blaine’s legs.

“How has your right side been feeling? Any better?”

Blaine shrugs, extending his right arm and attempting to flex his fingers.

“Still… stiff,” he responds and Janessa can hear the edge of frustration in his voice. Ted takes Blaine’s hand, giving the tight muscles a brief massage.

“Maybe you should up the time you wear your hand braces, see if that helps keep the muscles from tightening too much?”

They go over a few more things while Ted has Blaine do some repetitions with an exercise band. They play three-way catch with a lightly weighted ball for awhile (Janessa purposefully misses the ball a few times to make Blaine feel better about his misses). An hour passes this way, working on simple strength and balance exercises from the bench, Ted giving Blaine a break when he needs one and Janessa by his side offering support.  

“Alright,” Ted says, clapping his hands on his tan Bermuda shorts (and really, who wears Bermuda shorts in the winter?) before scribbling something on his clip board. “So I know next we usually do the jumpsuit, but today I was thinking you’re ready for something a little different.”

Blaine looks at Ted skeptically, and Janessa feels something like curiosity and pride growing in her. What Ted calls the jumpsuit is actually more like a padded rock climbing harness, attached to the ceiling and easily moveable. A couple weeks ago they had hooked Blaine in and he’d walked the length of the gym, supported by the harness. Blaine had shrugged off the victory, as he did so easily these days, and had called it less walking and more assisted gliding, which Janessa supposed was actually true. But it had been valuable in detecting Blaine’s weak spots, the way his right knee was easy to give out, the way he had trouble lifting his toes high enough to keep from dragging.

They’d fitted him with new orthotics, had worked three times a week with him, Blaine trying his hardest with every step he took, and Janessa knows what’s next. And Blaine does too, his eyes growing wide when Ted offers him his hand, lays his other one supportively across his back.

“Janessa, would you be willing to offer your assistance?” Ted asks and they share a knowing look. One filled to the brim with determination and support, ready to help Blaine achieve what had been previously thought to be impossible. Janessa breaks it with a nod, assuming the same stance on Blaine’s left side (the fact that Ted had placed himself on Blaine’s weaker side hadn’t escaped her notice) and she can feel the rapid beat of his pulse under her hand.

“We’re going to stand up now, nice and slow, okay?”

Blaine’s hand tightens on Janessa’s as they stand, his weight transferring mostly to her side and she rubs a small circle on his hand with her thumb.

“Okay, Blaine?” Ted starts, ensures Blaine’s alright before he starts. “Janessa and I are going to take a small step forward, and I want you to follow us. We’re here for support if you need, but I want you to try and do this as much on your own as you can. If you need to stop at anytime just pinch my hand okay?”

Blaine’s still a moment before he draws in a deep breath and nods. Janessa squeezes his hand encouragingly.

“You can do this,” she whispers, offering Blaine a smile.

And then Ted looks at her and they move, taking half a step forward, Blaine braced between him. He lifts his right leg and starts to tilt, his balance still easily thrown off, but Janessa supports him, holds his hand tight as his toe brushes the carpet before he sets it down. He’s leaning heavily on their arms, but Ted initiates another small step forward, Janessa following his lead. This one is more difficult, Blaine resting his weight on his right leg and the knee buckles slightly before he tenses, drawing his lips in between his teeth in a determined grimace. He pushes his left leg forward to meet the right, wavering slightly as he tries to rebalance himself.

“That was perfect, Blaine,” Ted says, smiling widely, his too-white teeth sparkling.

“You just walked!” Janessa exclaims, patting Blaine’s hand like an excited child, but she can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed. “You did it!”

Blaine just looks stunned, turning to look up at Ted and then down at Janessa.

“Can I…” Blaine pauses, licks his lips in an almost nervous gesture. “One more?”

“Of course,” Ted answers, and they guide him through two more steps, a strong one on the left, and an unsteady one on the right. It’s only then that Blaine’s face breaks into a smile, hesitant and higher on the right side, but so, so happy.

“I did it,” he says, the words barely a whisper and Janessa knows he wants to be humble, but sometimes it’s okay to be proud too.

“You did,” Janessa replies, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. Blaine starts to sag and Ted gets a stronger grip on him as Janessa fetches his wheelchair, and they lower him down and his cheeks are flushed, his brow starting to glisten with sweat but his eyes are practically radiating. (It’s when they’re standing that Janessa gets a whiff of sweet roses and Ted explains with an embarrassed smile that he uses his girlfriend’s shampoo, which is apparently the key to keeping his hair so shiny and artificially blond).

Ted takes the braces off Blaine’s legs as Janessa helps him back into his winter jacket, snugs the cap onto his head. They thank Ted and he reminds Blaine to work on his strengthening exercises so that next time he can try walking with the parallel bars and they’re off.

-

Blaine’s a ray of sunshine the entire ride home, even lets Janessa crank her music and nods his head along with the beat. They stop at the supermarket on the way back to pick up some groceries Kurt had requested (and Janessa really needs to work on breaking Kurt of his frozen waffle habit because that many waffles cannot be healthy). She loads Blaine back into the car and wrestles with his wheelchair for a while before sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Kurt’s going to freak out,” Janessa says, her car stalling a moment in the cold. “He’ll be so proud of you.”

Blaine draws his eyebrows together in thought as Janessa throws the car into reverse.

“No,” he says after a long moment, shaking his head. Janessa frowns.

“No? You don’t think he’ll be proud of you? You think Kurt’s heart has finally turned into stone or something?”

“No,” Blaine says with more finality, his hand drifting to his heart in the way it does when he thinks of Kurt. “I want… it, um, to be a… a…” he pauses as he searches for the right word, “surprise.”

“Oh?” Janessa affords Blaine a quick look as she navigates the traffic. He looks determined, his mind set on something and Janessa’s pretty sure she would help Blaine build a rocket ship to the moon if that’s what he wanted.

“For Christmas,” he says, glancing at her to see her reaction. “I can… practice.”

Janessa reaches across to squeeze his shoulder.

“You’re a little devil, aren’t you, Blaine?” Janessa teases and Blaine blushes and looks at his knees. “But I think that’s a great idea. The perfect Christmas surprise. Better than rum in your eggnog.”

Blaine just nods and looks out the window, watching the snow covered scenery pass them. The smile doesn’t leave his face the rest of the drive.  

-

That night, they cuddle together in bed, Kurt nestle them in a cozy mountain of blankets. Blaine’s tucked against his side, curls tickling Kurt’s neck, knees pressed against Kurt’s leg. Kurt has a book propped open on his lap, a mug of steaming tea on the table beside him, a tea smoothie for Blaine (Kurt had picked the recipe up from a TBI website and Blaine had loved to be included in their bedtime tea ritual again).

Kurt lets Blaine turn the page as he reads from  _A Wrinkle in Time_. They’d been doing this a lot lately, snuggling together before bed, Kurt reading out loud from Blaine’s favorite books (they’d gone through so many, but always ended up coming back to this one). Sometimes Blaine closes his eyes as he listens and Kurt imagines he’s trying to lose himself in the familiar stories. Kurt doesn’t mind, he likes reading out loud to Blaine. It’s a time for just them, a time to erase all worries about therapy or halted speech or busy workdays. A time for them to just be close, to just breathe, let soft fingers stroke over soft skin, tangle in dark curls. Sometimes Kurt lets his fingernails gently scrape Blaine’s scalp, knead down to the sore muscles of Blaine’s neck and he groans, lets his head fall against Kurt’s shoulder.

Today Kurt can sense it in the air between them, a nervous tension undertoned with excitement. He can tell Blaine’s not really focusing, keeps shifting against Kurt every few seconds, and when Kurt looks down Blaine’s staring at his hand like he’s contemplating something. Kurt can tell asking won’t do anything, not with the way a blush keeps creeping into Blaine’s cheeks, the way he starts humming before he catches himself and bites his lip. It’s so cute Kurt can’t help but press a kiss to the top of his head, confusion rising in him at the frown the action elicits.

“Everything alright?” Kurt asks, setting the bookmark back in place (and he won’t admit it but he’s a little disappointed; they’d just gotten to the brain called It and this was always his favorite part). Blaine shifts, pulls at the blankets around them and nods.

“Done reading for the night?” Kurt tries and Blaine shrugs, nuzzles his cheek against Kurt and Kurt’s getting a strong sense of mixed messages. But there’s been a pressing matter on his mind for the past few minutes, making him wince uncomfortably and he can’t keep it in anymore.

“Blaine, can I ask you a serious question?” Kurt asks, keeps his voice as calm as possible and Blaine looks up with him with wide eyes, answers with a quiet  _yeah_.

“Will you scratch my back?”

Blaine blinks and Kurt can’t help but laugh.

“I’m serious, I have the worst itch and it’s right in that spot I can’t reach.” He knows he’s practically whining but Blaine’s eyes have crinkled from his smile and he pushes himself further into a sitting position.

“Are you… sure?” Blaine asks, voice hesitant and Kurt presses a kiss to his forehead before pulling his shirt off, positioning himself right in front of Blaine. And Blaine’s fingers are on his back, gliding over him tentatively, questioningly and Kurt presses back against him.

“Right…  _there_ ,” Kurt practically moans, Blaine applying just the right pressure in just the right spot, just like he used to. “Oh my god, you are amazing.”

Kurt lets his shoulders drop, feels the tension leaking out of him as Blaine scratches his back until he slows, stops, his nails replaced by a different sensation. Air hitches in Kurt’s throat, blood pounding in his ears as he feels Blaine’s lips on his shoulder, just a light press but it’s there and then it’s gone, only the slightly damp tingle remaining.

He turns slowly and Blaine’s looking at him, eyes vulnerable and open, lips curved in a nervous smile.

“I, um, talked…” pause “… to Ja… nessa. She said, um… show you what I… feel.”

Kurt tangles his fingers in Blaine’s, scoots back until they’re pressed against each other again.

“And how do you feel?” he asks, voice open and light. Blaine shrugs and blushes.

“Just wanted… kiss you.”

Kurt gives their fingers a squeeze. “Can I kiss you?”

A nod and he leans forward, lips pressing against Blaine’s, soft and closed and not quite centered but it’s still the best kiss Kurt’s had since the incident. And then Blaine pulls back, a smile tugging at his lips and Kurt knows that’s all he needed, just that reassurance, that little symbol of love. He settles back against Kurt, face glowing and eyes warm, tucks his feet under Kurt’s calves.

“Finish the chapter?” he asks and Kurt nods, thumbs down the creased spine of the book before letting it fall back open.


	20. Slow Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared.

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. My fiancé suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury with extensive damage to his motor strip and parietal…_

No

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Three months ago two ignorant assholes bashed in my fiancé’s head with a rusted crowbar…_

No

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged and my fiancé can’t tell me he loves me, can’t even move or talk or eat…_

No

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. Sometimes the hurt bottles in my chest like a bomb and I can’t breathe and I’m frightened of what will happen when it explodes…_

Close

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I’m engaged to the most courageous, brave, loving, trying man in the world and I can’t wait to marry him, whether he walks or wheels or flies down the aisle with me…_

Closer

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel and I’m so, so scared._

“Why are you scared, Kurt?”

Blue eyes close against the too-kind gaze of the therapist.

Inhale, exhale.

“I’m scared of everything.”

The scratch of pen.

“What scares you the most?”

Kurt opens his eyes.

“I’m scared of losing him.”

“Blaine?”

He nods.

“I’m scared it won’t be enough. That  _I_  won’t be enough. That I’m doing all the wrong things, that Blaine won’t get better. I’m scared he will get better and it will happen again. I’m scared that every time I look in his eyes it will be the last. I’m scared of scared of failing him, of not being good enough for him, that I’m making all the wrong choices.” The words are coming now, rushing out of him like a waterfall and he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. “I’m scared of the dark, of walking outside at night. I’m scared of streets with nobody in them, of streets with too many people. I’m scared of people I don’t know, of places I’m not familiar with. I’m scared of crowbars and power tools and anything that could be used to…”

A deep breath, something wet on his cheeks.

“I’m scared of everything.”

 

_April 26 th, 2019_ 

It’s one of the rare days between migraines. Blaine’s in the living room, reclined on the couch, eyes half-lidded, enjoying a day free of the pounding, aching, pain in his head. Kurt’s humming as he dusts the bookshelves, shaking his hips to the beat in his head. He chances a look at Blaine every so often, a smile creeping onto his face at the sight of his fiancé up, out of their dark bedroom, looking alive and happy.

“Can… help?” Blaine asks, the words half mumbled as he catches Kurt watching him. He’s just woken up from a nap, exhausted from days of never-ending migraines, and he stretches, arms lifting and rubbing his eyes in a way that makes him look like a sleepy child.

“Just relax and feel better,” Kurt says because really, he’s only cleaning to make himself busy, the house already spotless from Janessa and Olivia’s hard work. But Blaine’s face falls slightly, his gaze shifting to his hands and Kurt throws down the duster, collapses onto the couch beside Blaine. The curls at the back of his head are pressed flat from his nap, his sweatshirt pulled slightly askew and Kurt strokes a finger across the bit of exposed shoulder, smiles when Blaine looks up at him.

Kissing Blaine will never, ever get old and the warm press of their lips sends sparks down Kurt’s spine, electric and exciting and he presses deeper because he  _can_  now, it’s okay. Blaine is loose under him, lips parting and hand seeking out Kurt’s because he craves that comfort, craves the connection that intertwined fingers give. Kurt lets his leg cross over Blaine’s strokes down his calf as they kiss, slow and lazy.

Until Blaine pulls back slightly, senses overwhelmed and Kurt presses feather light kisses down Blaine’s jaw, just under his ear, nuzzles his nose into Blaine’s neck. Lungs under him expand and contract in a sigh, lips pressed to Kurt’s forehead in a gentle kiss and Kurt’s heart flutters like butterfly wings.

“Let’s go to the park,” he says suddenly, sitting up and catching Blaine’s eyes. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

Blaine nods, a smile lifting at his lips.

“Love to.”

-

The weather has been consistently warmer (and Kurt hopes this means the migraines will start to taper off) and they bundle up only in their light jackets (Kurt bought Blaine a new fitted pea coat, dark green to bring out his eyes, and he does the buttons all on his own, biting back a successful smile), some fingerless gloves and a knit cap for Blaine.

The park is too close to drive, but not close enough for Blaine to walk, not yet, not when his steps are still shaky and unsure, his right knee still prone to giving out. So Kurt pushes and Blaine closes his eyes, lifts his face towards the afternoon sun. Neighbors are out doing yard work, enjoying the first days of spring and they wave, smile and wish them a good day. For the first time in a long time, Kurt actually thinks they will.

Children crowd the playground, screaming and laughing and chasing each other and Blaine’s head turns as he watches them. A red ball rolls up, stops in front of Blaine’s chair and Kurt pauses as Blaine reaches down and grabs it up, grips it between his fingers before tossing it back to the boy who’s approached them. The boy catches it easily and smiles nervously before turning and racing back to his friends. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s shoulder before they continue, past the playground and away from the noise. There’s a garden near the center, small but filled with flowers, just beginning to bloom, iron park benches placed along the walk, sunlight making everything glow brighter than life.

There are only a few people, a couple on a bench, two women strolling through the garden, a man sitting on a rock and strumming a guitar. They settle onto a bench and Kurt closes his eyes, listens to the music and he aches, the song reminding him of so many years ago. Of a street fair and cotton candy and music and a proposal. Of kisses and the overwhelming happiness that had wrapped around them, had sewn itself into their hearts, pulling them together and tying off with a kiss and applause.

Blaine feels it too, obvious in the way he leans against Kurt, the hand that rests itself gently against his thigh, the thumb that strokes choppy hearts into his leg. Kurt lets his hand drift down, skims over Blaine’s wrist, can feel his steady pulse, warm and thrumming under his fingers.

“Dance with me,” Kurt whispers, opening his eyes and tangling their fingers. He stands, reaching to grab Blaine’s other hand, tugging lightly. Blaine looks around, red flushing into his cheeks.

“No one else… is,” he murmurs, biting his lip.

“So?” Kurt tugs a little harder and Blaine follows, letting Kurt pull him to his feet. A moment passes as Blaine steadies himself, Kurt placing Blaine’s hands on his shoulders, his own sliding down to Blaine’s waist. The fabric of Blaine’s coat is scratchy on his palms but he grips tight, can feel the outline of Blaine’s slender body as he pulls him in close, the few inches between them charged and heavy, begging to be closed.

The guitarist changes his tune, something a little more upbeat and Kurt leads, pulling Blaine further from the bench, swaying his hips and Blaine follows his lead. Dancing is easier, for reasons Kurt doesn’t understand. The beat, the spring in Blaine’s step, the way he leans against Kurt, it flows, a rhythm between them they both understand.

They dance for awhile, a smile on both of their faces and Blaine actually giggles when Kurt twirls between them before cautiously dipping Blaine, hand heavy on his back, eyes flickering over the stretch of Blaine’s throat. And then he’s back up, wavering as he regains his balance, face filled with joy and the guitarist pauses to give a small applause, Blaine bending in a tiny bow.

The music picks up, slow and deliberate. They’re mostly alone, only a few people strolling the garden and the sun is warm on Kurt’s back, catching Blaine’s face and making it glow, eyes hidden under the shadow of his eyelashes. Kurt lets his arms wind around to the small of Blaine’s back, pulls him in until their bodies are flush,  Blaine’s hands unsure on Kurt’s shoulders.

“I love you so much.” Kurt’s words are barely a breath in Blaine’s ear, his cheek grazing Blaine’s as he presses a kiss to Blaine’s neck. Blaine swallows thickly, lips parting but nothing coming out and Kurt smiles because it’s okay, it’s okay if Blaine loses words, if his thoughts are jumbled puzzle pieces because Kurt is here to help him sort them out, slot them together in the beautiful picture that is Blaine’s mind.

So they sway together, Kurt’s hand stroking Blaine’s back in time with the music, Blaine staring at Kurt with wide, honest eyes and Kurt thinks this might be as close to perfect as it can get. At some point Blaine picks a purple flower from a raised ledge of the garden, tucks it behind Kurt’s ear and Kurt darts a kiss to Blaine’s nose, pink tingeing Blaine’s cheeks.

It’s when the guitarist packs up, the fresh scent of an incoming rain in the air, Kurt helping Blaine back to his chair that Blaine grips Kurt’s forearms, a desperate look on his face.

“I love you too.” The words fall quick off his tongue, like he wants to get them out before they leave again and Kurt strokes a thumb over Blaine’s arm. “I love you too.”

“I know.”

Kurt presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, short but full of everything that ever goes unsaid and in this moment Kurt isn’t scared of anything.

 

_September 2 nd,  2019 (Labor Day)_

“There are fireworks… tonight.” The words are said amidst the splashing of dishes in the sink, Kurt washing and Blaine drying from his chair. Kurt’s fingers are already beginning to wrinkle and considers asking if Blaine’s up to switching but Blaine’s looking at him in that way he recognizes from before, that way his eyes shift from Kurt’s face to the floor, and Kurt knows he’s hinting at something.

“Is that so?” Kurt hums and Blaine nods, towel sweeping over the plate.  

“We… could go?”

Kurt feels Blaine’s eyes on him, wide and hopeful, stares at the soapy dishwater.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Why not?”

Kurt tries to hand Blaine another plate but Blaine doesn’t take it, staring at Kurt in that way he knows means he’s waiting for an answer. So he lets himself imagine it for a moment, going to the park for fireworks they haven’t seen in years. They’d hold hands, Blaine would insist on walking, cuddling together on a blanket. It would be dark and crowded with couples doing the same, transfixed on each other and the bright array of lights above.

Dark and crowded with people he doesn’t know, places he can’t see, who knows who could be there, what could happen, where the night would end.

“It’ll be too late,” Kurt answers, drying the plate himself.

“They’re at… um, nine,” Blaine responds, voice almost challenging. “Not… not that late.”

Kurt closes his eyes, presses his lips together. Blaine nudges Kurt’s ankle with his foot.

“You’ve had day… all day off and we…” pause “we haven’t done anything.”

The water gurgles when Kurt pulls the drain, watches it swirl down before turning to Blaine.

“Please?” Blaine asks, voice soft, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

 “Fireworks are so loud,” Kurt says, chewing at his lip. “They could trigger a seizure, or a migraine.”

“I haven’t had… had either in weeks.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand, still damp from the dishwater. “Would be nice.”

_Nice_. Kurt pulls his hand from Blaine’s to scrub it over his face. Doesn’t Blaine understand that it will be dark? Dark and unfamiliar and so many people, so many dark corners, so many places no one can see them.

“I don’t want you to get sick,” Kurt answers from behind his fingers. Only silence answers him and when he lowers his hands Blaine’s face if full of disappointment and hurt and  _god_ , Kurt can’t stand that he put it there.

“Blaine…”

“Kurt,” Blaine counters, voice harsh and Kurt swallows.  _I just want you to be okay_.

“I just…” Blaine starts, pauses and looks away, “thought it be, um, would be fun to go… with you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, wants to tell Blaine he’ll go, wants to grab his hands and kiss him and tell him of course he’ll go, there’s nowhere he’d rather be then watching fireworks with Blaine. But he can’t. There’s a weight in his chest, pressing on his lungs and halting his words.  _I just want to be okay_.

The words bubble in his throat, catch on his tongue but Blaine’s pushing himself out of the kitchen, hands gripping the wheels of his chair tighter than necessary. Kurt sighs, turns to put the dried dishes away, an uneasy feeling in his stomach before following Blaine out.

Blaine’s standing with his walker, his back to the kitchen, staring out the window , phone in hand. Kurt approaches quietly, lets his arms slip around Blaine’s waist and presses a kiss to the back of his neck before hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder.

“I can just… just call Rach… el,” Blaine says, voice strained. “Go with her.”

“Rachel’s in London,” Kurt says, feels Blaine grow tense under his arms. “Blaine… I just worry about you.  It’s going to be dark and crowded and loud and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

_And it’s dark Blaine, can’t you see, it’s dark and there will be so many people and it’s outside at night and it will be so, so dark._

“I just…” Blaine starts, relaxing slightly back against Kurt. “I don’t want everything… um.”

He twitches against Kurt and Kurt knows the words are lost for now because no matter how much better Blaine seems to get, the words and sentences and actions can still slip away, still leave him stranded.

“I know,” Kurt kisses his neck again because he does, he understands. Blaine’s hand drifts up to rub through his hair, right where Kurt knows his scars are.

“I don’t want  _this_ ,” Blaine finally gets out, hand cupping just above his left ear, “to decide ev… everything we do.”

“Let’s go.” The words escape Kurt before he really thinks about them. “We can go.”

“Really?” Blaine asks, turning so his cheek just grazes Kurt’s face, looking down at him with a smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Kurt whispers, tilting his head to touch his lips to the side of Blaine’s. He’ll go for Blaine. He’d do  _anything_  for Blaine, Blaine who’s been cooped up inside for so long, who hadn’t even wanted to leave the house for months and months, who wants to go to a silly little park and watch some silly Labor Day fireworks because he  _can_  now. And Kurt’s not going to take that away from him, not with everything that’s already been.

“Thank you.”

-

The park is only a short drive but it’s busy and Kurt refuses to park anywhere that isn’t well lit. He parallel parks a few block away, the street dotted with lights, helps Blaine unfold his walker and get out of the car. The sun is almost set, just the faint pink still creeping over the horizon, reluctant to yield to night, and Kurt presses a hand to the small of Blaine’s back as they walk.

A child darts around them, running away with a shriek as a friend follows and Kurt jumps, startled. They pass an alley and his skin feels like it’s crawling, his fingers tightening on Blaine’s back and his hip bumps into where Blaine’s fingers have curled around his walker.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kurt mutters and Blaine offers him a smile.

“It’s fine. Sorry I’m… slow.”

Kurt leans over to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, the warm soft skin (Kurt helped him shave earlier today, had wrapped his fingers over Blaine’s, keeping his hand steady as the razor scraped over his cheek, down his neck) keeping him grounded, reminding him he’s doing this for Blaine, for  _Blaine_ , because Blaine wants to and Blaine’s what matters.

They make their way down the block, the pink sky finally fading away to the night, stars beginning to dot the sky overhead. The chattering sounds of people talking start to surround them, children screaming and laughing, neighbors and friend greeting each other with friendly conversation. Kurt imagines they would be there, maybe not  _here_ , but somewhere, if it had never happened, if they hadn’t walked down the dark alley that changed their lives forever. They’d be there, chatting with friends, laughing at the kids who would run into them, Blaine off somewhere with students and families, maybe getting everyone to sing together or strumming the guitar he liked to bring to events. Kurt would be waiting for him, making friendly small talk, maybe setting up a picnic or pouring some champagne with  Rachel or Lily or Cooper or whoever was visiting at the time.

It would be nice, he imagines. To walk down a dark street towards a park filled with unknown people and not feeling like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, like someone filled his stomach with rocks, like an electric current is racing through his veins. To be heading towards friends, to laugh without anything holding him back. To have Blaine beside him, bouncing and excited, pulling him along and making Kurt groan with faked exasperation. It would be nice, but it’s not real.

Instead Kurt keeps his hand firmly on Blaine’s back, eyes scanning for rock or cracks that could get in Blaine’s way, trying to ignore the lump growing in his throat with every step. They’re barely a block away now and Kurt can see couples spread out on lawn chairs and blankets, can see them hugging and kissing and talking and there’s an ache in his heart because he _wants_.

Until there’s a tap on his shoulder and he can feel someone behind him, someone looming and creeping and it’s so  _dark_ and who is behind them,  _god_ , why is it so dark?

“Woah,” a voice says when Kurt turns sharply, chest heaving and hand reaching to grip Blaine’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

It’s Brandon, their neighbor’s grandson, just a few years older than Kurt, who they see occasionally when he comes to help Helena with housework. That’s it, just Brandon, not someone he doesn’t know, not someone to grab him, to hold him back, to hurt him, to hurt  _Blaine_. Just Brandon. Just someone with floppy hair and a friendly smile.

“Hi, Brandon,” Blaine says when Kurt stays silent, sending him a friendly smile.

“Hey, Blaine. Nice to see you guys out. Off to watch some fireworks?” Brandon asks and Kurt just wants him to go away, doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not tonight when he feels wound so tight he might split at the seams, not when his head is pounding and all his senses are screaming of danger, watch out, it’s so  _dark_. But he’s just being nice, he  _knows_  that, knows Brandon honestly wants to say hi, to talk with his neighbors on a warm holiday night.

“Yeah, we haven’t gone in… um, forever,” Blaine says, working hard to get the words out and Brandon waits patiently and smiles so honestly and Kurt knows it’s because he’s just a nice guy and here Kurt is, leaving Blaine to fend for himself.

“You’ll have to make sure to see the Fourth of July ones here. Those are incredible.”

“We definitely will,” Kurt finally manages and he knows his voice sounds strained but he tries to smile as honestly as he can. He can feel Blaine’s eyes on him, searching his face. Brandon smiles back, must sense the tension in the air (how could he not, it feels so thick, so stifling), gives Kurt a short clap on the shoulder.

“Well it was nice seeing you guys. I better get back to my girls before they eat all the cotton candy.”

“We’ll see you a… around,” Blaine says and Kurt would feel proud of him if he wasn’t so focused on just making his lungs expand, contract, expand, contract, air in and out. Brandon says something else and he’s gone with a friendly wave, leaving them in the brief dark between two streetlamps.

“Ow.” Blaine pokes at where Kurt’s hand is wrapped around his arm, his fingers white with the force he’s holding on.

“Oh, sorry,” Kurt says, quickly releasing his grip, feeling the ache as he straightens his fingers. Blaine’s looking at him with a frown and Kurt swallows down everything, all the fears and worries and tears, that are trying so hard to escape.

“You okay?” Blaine asks, voice soft and Kurt nods quickly.

“Yeah, fine. He just… startled me.”

He can tell Blaine doesn’t believe him, not with the way his hands settle stiffly on his back, the way he avoids his eyes and brushes imaginary dust from his jacket.

“We can keep going,” Kurt says, ignoring the look Blaine’s giving him, determined to make it through. Because it’s just some silly fireworks in the park, just something that Blaine wants to do, something he wouldn’t have given a second thought to  _before_.

They make it to the park and Kurt can tell Blaine’s starting to get tired, leaning heavily on his walker, most of his weight on his left leg. He tries to scope out somewhere to sit, maybe he can find a spot away from all the people, can pull Blaine into him and rub his hands down his arms, can close his eyes and just be surrounded by Blaine while he watches the fireworks.

And then he smells it. The spicy, rich smell of roasting gyros, from a stand down the block. There’s a short line, people walking passed with gyros in hand, laughing and talking and enjoying good food on a night out. It wraps around Kurt, the spicy smell, so thick in the air, invades his nose and his lungs, squeezes at his heart and he can’t breathe, he can’t inhale because he’ll smell it, that stupid smell of lamb and onions and sour cream.

And he can see it, can feel it, the cool April air, the way Blaine had smiled with his mouth full, sauce on his nose and Kurt kissed it away and it had tasted earthy, meat and cucumbers and lettuce. The way they had laughed, how Blaine had insisted on getting hot chocolate after and it was too watery and not sweet enough to wash out the spicy taste. The taste that was soon mixed with blood and fear and everything Kurt had thought would never happen to them.

There’s a hand on him, grabbing his arm and he can’t breathe, can’t think, just lashes out as a crack echoes through the air, a crack just like the one the pipe made when it hit Blaine’s head, a crack the way Blaine’s body made when it collapsed to the ground, a crack the way Kurt’s arm did when it was wrenched behind him. More hands on him and the smell of gyros surrounding him and there’s another crack, and another and another and oh god, how many times are they going to hit him, they’re going to kill him  _kill him_ oh god Blaine-

“Kurt?”

A hand on his arm and he wrenches away, an  _oof_  sounding next to him. An  _oof_  that sounds like Blaine and he blinks, hands tangling in the soft grass below him. Grass. He’s on the ground, a rock digging into his leg. He blinks again, looks around and his lungs finally expand, the haze evaporating from his eyes, and there’s people around him, people with kind faces, concerned and caring. He sees Blaine (looking disgruntled on the ground next to him but  _alive_  and  _okay_ ), Brandon in front of him, his hand hovering over Kurt’s shoulder like he doesn’t know what to do, wants to touch but doesn’t want to cause any more harm. There’s a woman Kurt doesn’t know, a little girl standing off to the side, biting her fingers nervously.

“Hey, you with us?” Brandon asks, voice gentle and Kurt nods, feeling in a daze. His fingers dig into the dirt beneath him.

“What…?”

Brandon glances at Blaine who reaches out, cautiously laying a hand on Kurt’s arm, his touch gentle. Kurt leans into the touch, lets his hand raise to tangle with Blaine’s fingers, an anchor keeping him  _here_. Blaine’s eyes are wide, his eyebrows drawn together and he sees the confusion in his eyes, knows Blaine is  _worried_ , worried about him and about what just happened.

“I think you blacked out,” Brandon explains after a short moment. “I could see you over the hill and you just went down, took Blaine with you.”

“Blaine…?” Kurt echoes, remembers fighting someone off and a sick feeling bubbles in his stomach. He turns towards him, pulls Blaine’s hand from his arm to his chest, holding tight. “Did I hurt you? I am so, so sorry, oh my god, I hurt you, I didn’t…”

Blaine touches his lips with his finger, face nothing but concern.

“I’m fine,” he tries to assure, even though Kurt’s not sure he believes him. “Worried about you.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Kurt presses, searching Blaine’s face for any sign of anything, anything that could mean he isn’t okay.

“Promise,” Blaine says, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze. Something cold is being pressed into Kurt’s other hand and he reluctantly looks away from Blaine, sees the sweating bottle of blue Gatorade.

“Drink some,” the woman Kurt doesn’t recognize instructs. Kurt does as she says and it’s only when he brings the bottle to his lips does he realize he’s shaking. The cold shock of Gatorade does help to calm him, makes his head feel like it’s stopped spinning, the ground more steady under his feet.

“Thank you,” he says, the words almost panted as he tries to hand the drink back to her.

“Keep it,” she says with a shake of her head. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“Do you need a ride home?” Brandon asks after a moment, Blaine’s hand still in his, his lungs finally expanding and contracting properly.

“Thank you, I’m okay,” Kurt says, trying his best to sound as reassuring as he can. “I think I just had… low blood sugar or something.”

And then another crack, a loud boom and Kurt flinches, breath catching in his throat until he realizes it’s just fireworks. _Just fireworks_. Brandon raises an eyebrow and from the way Blaine’s fingers tighten in his grip he knows neither of them really believe him.

“I’ll be fine, really,” Kurt assures, letting go of Blaine’s hand and starting to push himself to his feet. Brandon keeps a steadying hand on his back, making sure Kurt isn’t about to fall over again. “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize,” Brandon says, moving to help Blaine back up before Kurt has a chance, his hands gripping at his jeans uselessly.

“Just feel better, okay?” Brandon says, resting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “Sure you don’t want a ride?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Kurt replies, honestly touched by how concerned Brandon is. “We’ll be fine.”

“Alright, well, I’ll stop by tomorrow and make sure you’re still doing okay,” Brandon insists and Kurt agrees, thanking him once more and then it’s just them, just them and the cracking of fireworks and the smell of gyros and it’s still so  _dark_  and Kurt just wants to go home.

A hand on his shoulder and Kurt jumps, pulled abruptly from his thoughts, sees Blaine watching him, face so, so worried and it’s only then does he realize his cheeks are wet, traitor tears escaping his eyes. He scrubs his face angrily, turning away.

“You’re not… okay,” Blaine says softly, hand stroking down Kurt’s arm.

“Can we just go home?” Kurt asks, sniffing and embarrassed because this is  _not_  how this night was supposed to go and he’s so  _stupid_ , he can’t even do something his fiancé wants to do. His fiancé who’s suffered so much more than he has, who tries so hard just to work up the courage to make the walk to the park for some fireworks. And now Kurt’s ruined it.

He starts walking back in the direction of their car, wanting to get away from the noises and smells and people before he stops, breathes, realizes he’s alone. Turning around, he sees Blaine, half a block back, doing his best to catch up with Kurt, every step forceful and deliberate and Kurt feels more hot tears pressing behind his eyes as he makes his way back.

“I’m sorry,” the words come out choked and he doesn’t even care that they’re in public, not anymore. He presses his forehead to Blaine arm, trying to swallow past the painful lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m ruining everything.”

He can feel Blaine twist, hands leaving his walker to wrap around Kurt’s waist, pulling him in and Kurt lets out a muffled sob into Blaine’s shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Kurt can feel the words murmured into his hair, the slightly jerky rhythm of Blaine rubbing a hand over his back. “It’s okay.”

The tears come harder and Kurt knows he should feel ridiculous crying on the sidewalk, barely a block from their car, but he doesn’t care, only cares about the arms around him, the warm body pressed against him, holding him close. Another booming firework echoes through the night and Kurt can’t help the whimper that escapes him, fingers digging into Blaine’s arms just to make sure he’s real, he’s okay, he’s  _okay_.

“You’re okay.” The words escape Kurt’s lips and he raises his head, eyes searching Blaine’s face and he knows it’s silly, he _knows_ Blaine’s okay, but it all just feels too real, too close, too tangible.

“I’m okay, Kurt,” Blaine says, the words strong and sincere and Kurt raises his hands to cup Blaine’s face, strokes his thumbs over Blaine’s cheekbones.

“I ruined your night.” Kurt lets his hands fall to his sides and Blaine grips his walker again for support.

“Di… you didn’t ruin… it,” Blaine says, and Kurt knows he means it. “Just worried.”

Kurt gives a shaky laugh because Blaine’s worried about  _him_  and it seems so ridiculous after everything. He lets his head fall back to Blaine’s shoulder, breathing deep, grounding, orienting, controlling himself. He’s okay. Blaine’s okay.  _I’m okay_.

“Let’s go home,” Blaine whispers, his thumb stroking over Kurt’s hand and Kurt nods, keeping his hand over Blaine’s as they make their way back to the car, letting Blaine set the pace.

-

The first step inside the house feels like pressure on his chest is released, the fear and panic fizzling out of his veins, comforted by the familiar surroundings of home. There’s an awkward silence, thick between them, and Kurt wonders if he can ignore it if Blaine will just forget, if it will go away and Kurt can go back to helping Blaine, focusing on what Blaine needs. It’s easier that way.

“That was…n’t low blood…” Blaine starts, adding after a beat, “…sugar.”

Kurt sinks onto the couch, rubbing his eyes with his hands even though he knows that will give him wrinkles, Blaine sitting carefully beside him.

“I’m fine,” Kurt tries to reassure, smiling at Blaine though he knows it’s forced. “I’m okay now.”

“What happened on the… sidewalk, that wasn’t… okay.” Blaine reaches to grab Kurt’s hand in his own, pulling them onto his lap and massaging his fingers. “We talk about, um, my problems. Don’t… please don’t leave me… out of yours.” He pauses, eyes glistening and so full of emotion and caring. “I want to help.”

Kurt breathes.

“It was the gyros.”

Blaine blinks. “The what?”

“We were eating gyros the night it happened,” Kurt says and his voice is weak, blocked by the lump in his throat. “Gyros and hot chocolate which is such a horrible combination,” a humorless chuckle, Blaine’s fingers tightening on his. “And it’s just… the smell of the park and the fireworks, they sounded like when… when they…”

Tears prick painfully at his eyes and Kurt stops to breathe.

“Sometimes it just comes back so… intense and it’s like my brain won’t stop thinking, won’t stop whirring and I worry  _so much_  because I don’t want anything to happen to you and sometimes I just get so  _scared_.”

The words tumble from Kurt’s lips in a rush and when he’s done Blaine pulls him in, nestles his cheek against Kurt’s hair, arms wrapped firmly around Kurt’s chest. Kurt lets his eyes flutter closed, feels so safe and warm and secure in Blaine’s arms and somehow Blaine always knows what to do, how to make him feel better.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers into Blaine’s chest, feels the thumping of Blaine’s heart against his cheek.

“Don’t be,” Blaine murmurs back, his breath ruffling Kurt’s hair. “I should… apologize.”

Kurt pulls back slightly, looking at Blaine’s face, lined with guilt.

“I pushed you to…” deep breath, “to go. I didn’t know… I didn’t…”

“I didn’t tell you,” Kurt says, gently cutting him off. “I’ve been… it’s hard sometimes, dealing with everything and I feel so stupid being afraid of some silly fireworks when you’ve gone through so much…”

“Don’t,” Blaine interrupts, giving Kurt’s hand a sharp squeeze. “Don’t… compare.”

Kurt looks at where their knees are pressed together, their intertwined fingers.

“I know you were… um, were having pan…” Blaine huffs as he loses the words, his whole face scrunched because he just wants to say this, wants to be here for Kurt, for once. “Having… a hard time before… before I could,” he motions to his mouth, red rising in his cheek and Kurt knows what he means. Before he could communicate, before he could move and talk and tell Kurt how he was feeling. “I didn’t know you were… still…”

Blaine eyes search Kurt’s face, desperate for Kurt to understand what he’s saying.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Kurt says, barely above a whisper because he knows Blaine is going to be upset. “You have so much… I didn’t want to add to that.”

Blaine pulls slightly away. “You’re always here for me… I… I want to be here for… you. I want you to… talk to me too.”

His eyes gaze desperately into Kurt’s begging him to understand how important this is. “I know you want to… protect me but I want to protect you too.”

Kurt feels the lump in his throat grow, Blaine’s words pulling at him and he knows he was wrong to keep Blaine out of the loop, to try and hide this from Blaine. Because after all his struggles, all his work just to do things that other’s take for granted, Blaine still puts Kurt first.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologizes, and he means it. “I won’t keep things from you, I promise.”

“I just…” Blaine pauses, his hand drawing a line down Kurt’s arm. “I just want you to be… okay.”

“I am,” Kurt whispers and Blaine looks at him in a way that Kurt knows he doesn’t believe him. “I am, mostly. It’s like how you have good days and harder days. Some days I’m fine and some days it’s… harder than others.”

Blaine nods, pulling Kurt back in close.

“I saw someone, when it was really bad and they helped me and _you_  help me, it’s just… sometimes. I don’t know. It was so dark and there were the gyros and then the noise…”

Kurt shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, feels Blaine press a kiss to his temple.

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re really okay.”

Blaine’s hand cups Kurt’s jaw, his thumb stroking over his cheek as he gently tilts Kurt’s head up, touches his lips to Kurt’s.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

A noise escapes Kurt that could have been a laugh but was mostly a sob, and he lets his forehead rest against Blaine’s shoulder, takes a moment to just breathe.

“Let’s go outside.” His words are abrupt and harsh in the silence, but he sits straight, a smile on his face because he’s  _here_ , with Blaine and he’s not going to let this night go to waste. “Come on.”

He pulls Blaine to his feet, Blaine’s face creasing with amused confusion at Kurt’s sudden change in demeanor. Gathering a blanket in his arms he helps support Blaine as they make their way outside. There’s a chill in the night that wasn’t there before, a foreshadow of the coming fall, and the moon is bright in the sky, casting everything with a silvery glow. Kurt lays out the blanket, situates them on top of it before collapsing backwards.

Blaine lowers himself more gently, scoots until he’s tucked against Kurt’s side, head cushioned in Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt rolls his head to kiss the top of Blaine’s lets his nose nestle in Blaine’s hair and he just breathes, under the night sky, the twinkling stars and he feels centered, feels so small and so huge at the same time, like every moment, every hurt and every fear and every wasted tear is gone and now it’s just Blaine and him, just them on a blanket under the night sky.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” Kurt says, Blaine’s hair tickling his lips. “I’ll let you help me. I won’t keep anything from you.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says in a breath, hand tangling with Kurt’s.

 

_January 6 th, 2020_

Kurt tries to think with a level head. Every day he tries so hard to balance work and Blaine and the side project he’d taken on and Rachel’s constant phone calls and keeping up with his Dad and the friends he’s been trying so desperately to reconnect with and keeping up with bills and he needs to see about getting the dishwasher fixed and their car is due for an oil change and –

A quick shake of his head to clear his thoughts. Inhale through the nose and out through the mouth. His forehead thuds against the desk, head throbbing with the beginning of a headache. Maybe he needs an afternoon off.

_Hi, my name is Kurt Hummel, and I am utterly exhausted._

He leaves work early, figures he’ll spend the day with Blaine, doing all those things he’s meant to do but has never gotten around to. Maybe he’ll finally patch that hole in Blaine’s pants, or start painting the trim in the bathroom. Or maybe he’ll start up the fireplace and make some coffee and convince Blaine to cuddle with him and maybe give him a massage… Kurt groans at the thought, rolls his tight shoulders. He needs a good stress relief, that’s for sure.

“Hey Blaine, I took the afternoon off,” Kurt calls when he makes it home, kicking off his snow covered boots in the entryway. Silence greets him.

“Blaine?” He makes his way into the living room, tossing his bag onto the couch, a frown starting to crease his forehead. All the lights are off, Blaine’s coat gone. Kurt tries not to let panic rise in him (hot and heavy and stifling) tries not to imagine all of the reasons Blaine might not be here, instead takes a deep breath and reaches for his phone and dials Blaine’s number. A beat and then Kurt hears the ridiculous reggae of Blaine’s ringtone erupting to his left, finds the phone shoved in between the couch cushions. He stares at it for a moment, sinking onto the couch, the phone held delicately in his fingers.

Blaine’s out somewhere, without his phone. Kurt has  _no idea_  where he is and has no way to find out. Anything could have happened, Blaine could have fallen, he could be laying somewhere with no way to get help, could be fighting off gang members for all Kurt knows and  _why couldn’t he have remembered his phone?_

His foot taps a nervous rhythm as he stares at the phone, wills it to somehow tell him where Blaine is. If he’s okay. He calls Rachel, Janessa, Lily, even Cooper and no one has heard from him, no one knows where he is. He calls Access Link but they haven’t heard from Blaine since they dropped him off at group earlier in the day. Kurt thanks them and hangs up tries to clean the kitchen for awhile to distract himself, making a mental list of the reasons why he shouldn’t call the police. He doesn’t want to overreact. So he scrubs the sink until it’s glistening, mops the floor and washes the drip pans on the stove. And then he stands in the kitchen, the counter digging into the small of his back, closes his eyes and focuses on breathing because worrying isn’t going to solve anything Blaine is  _okay he’s okay he has to be okay_.

And just when he’s decided he doesn’t care, he’s going to call the police, he can’t stand another second of waiting and not knowing, he hears the creak of the front door opening, the sounds of someone shuffling through and stomping snow off boots. Kurt makes his way from the kitchen to the entryway, heart hammering in this throat, fingers gripping Blaine’s phone so tightly his knuckles turn white. Blaine’s hanging up his jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold, his face splitting into a wide smile when he sees Kurt.

“You’re home early,” Blaine remarks, grabbing his cane from where it had been leaning against the wall.

“I took the afternoon off,” Kurt explains, voice short, his worry growing into annoyance at Blaine’s calm demeanor, doesn’t he know how scared Kurt was for him?

“I just had the craziest day, Kurt, you’re going to be… proud of me, I helped…”

“Where were you?” Kurt interrupts, holds himself stiffly and he can see Blaine hesitate, the way his brow creases when he realizes something  is wrong.

“I had, um, group,” Blaine says, shifting his shoulders under Kurt’s gaze.

“Group was at eleven, Blaine. It’s half past three.”

Blaine crosses an arm across his stomach, his posture defensive.

“Penny’s… um, boyfriend broke up with her so I took her to lunch to… talk.” Blaine says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like how could Kurt have possibly thought he would be anywhere else?

“You didn’t have your phone,” Kurt states, voice flat and Blaine’s hands immediately go to his pockets, stilling when Kurt holds out his phone in tightly clutched fingers. “I tried calling you and I had  _no_  idea where you were.”

“Sorry I just… forgot it. It’s not a… a big deal,” Blaine says, waving his hand like Kurt should just forget about it, tries to move around Kurt into the living room.

“And you didn’t think you should call me? Let me know where you were going?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Blaine repeats, his voice rising slightly and Kurt knows he’s getting angry and defensive but he’s passed the point of caring right now because  _Kurt’s_ angry, is angry that he worried so much, is angry that Blaine thinks this is something he can just brush off. “I just took her to lunch, like a good friend does.”

“I didn’t know where you were!” Kurt knows he’s almost shouting, his voice annoyingly high but he can’t hold it in anymore, can’t let Blaine blow this off. “I didn’t know if you were okay, if you needed help.”

“God, Kurt,” Blaine says, exasperated. “I’m fine.”

“You fell last week, Blaine.”

“People fall all the time,  _Kurt_.” There’s venom in his voice and he knocks his cane over, doesn’t bother to pick it up.

“People that aren’t you.”

Blaine’s eyes flash and he takes a half step forward.

“What are you say… saying?”

“You just… you’re pushing yourself too hard, Blaine. You do all these things and you don’t tell me and you’re wearing yourself out.”

Blaine looks at the floor, bites his lip.

“And here I thought you… believed in me.”

“I do believe in you,” Kurt says, taking a step forward and trying to ignore the way Blaine leans away from him. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“No, you just don’t want me to… to do anything.” His voice is shakier, less confident and he turns and walks into the living room.

“That’s not true,” Kurt says, following him and Blaine stops, turns back to face him.

“Really? Then why are you…” He trails off and Kurt knows the words are gone, the way his forehead creases with frustration, his hands making fists. “Never mind.”

“Next time just tell me where you are, so I don’t have to worry about you?”

Blaine lets out a groan, throws his hands up in frustration.

“So you can keep… tabs on me? Tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“So I know you’re okay!”

“I’m twen… twenty-seven. I can take care of myself,” Blaine says, voice cold and Kurt wants to cry because why doesn’t Blaine understand?

“I just spent two years taking care of you, Blaine. Don’t you tell me you don’t need my help.”

“Stop suffocating me!” The words are shouted and abrupt, red rising into Blaine’s cheeks, his eyes shining. “You’re worse than my mom. You think… Jesus, Kurt. All you do is… is worry about what I can’t do, you don’t give me a chance to be… my own person.”

“Blaine…”

“No, Kurt. God, I…” Blaine looks away and Kurt can see the tears slip down his cheek before he scrubs it away angrily. “I had such a good day until  _you_  decided to make me feel like a… a… child.”

Kurt opens his mouth to protest but Blaine isn’t done and this time he doesn’t wipe away the tears, hot and furious on his cheeks.

“My brain is fucked up, I know it is, my whole life is fucked up now and I… I’m sorry that I bought a friend… that I went out with a friend and didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I just want to…”

“Blaine, I didn’t…”

“I want to go… home,” Blaine says, voice quiet, crossing his arms over his chest. Kurt blinks.

“You are home.”

“To Lima.” Blaine’s breath hitches on the word and there’s silence for a moment, Kurt feeling tears prick at his own eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks, not sure he really wants the answer. Blaine’s jaw tightens for a moment, his hands flexing before curling back into fists.

“I mean… maybe Penny is the lucky one.” The words are barely whispered and Kurt feels his breath catch in throat.

“You want to…” he can’t even say the words.  _Break up_.

“I want… I want to be with someone who does… who treats me like their boy… boyfriend. Not their child.”

“I don’t treat you…”

“Then why do I feel like I’m being grounded?” Blaine interrupts again and if Kurt wasn’t so  _angrysadconfused_  he would be impressed with Blaine for taking charge of the conversation like this.

“Blaine, why can’t you just understand?” Kurt asks, looking up at the ceiling in frustration.

“Why can’t  _you_  understand?” Blaine counters, staring straight at Kurt before turning and walking to their bedroom, limping slightly without his cane. Kurt hesitates, torn between going after Blaine and staying put. The sound of the door slamming makes him flinch, and he stands, staring in the direction of their bedroom, mind racing to catch up with what just happened. With shaking hands he crouches down and picks up Blaine’s cane, the smooth metal cool in his hands, holds it tightly as he sinks onto the couch.

Was he too harsh? Has he been suffocating Blaine? Is it so unreasonable of him to want Blaine to call him and tell him where he is? Is he a bad fiancé because he worries about Blaine? Because he just wants him to be okay?

…does Blaine really want to break up?

The thought makes something twist in his stomach, makes his throat tighten painfully. He just ruined everything. Blaine was having a good day, he thought Kurt would be proud of him and now Kurt’s brought him down, has doubted everything about him. Maybe Blaine does deserve better than him. But all he’s ever done is try and make sure Blaine’s okay, to be there for him and support him. He’s given up so much for Blaine, and he’s done it willingly, he would do it all over again if he had to.

A bang draws Kurt out of his thoughts, another one, and Kurt sets the cane gently on the couch, tries to keep himself from barging into the bedroom and making things worse than he’s already made them. Instead he presses his ear to the door, can hear the sounds of drawers being opened and slammed, Blaine’s muttering something that Kurt can’t quite make out. He frowns, wonders what Blaine could be doing, gives him a couple more seconds before knocking three times and pushing open the door.

Blaine doesn’t look up when Kurt takes a step into the room, just keeps pulling things out of random drawers, throwing them at the duffle bag he’s set out on the bed and Kurt feels something wrench inside of him, like his chest has shrunk and his heart doesn’t quite fit right anymore.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, voice soft, trying to get Blaine to stop, to look at him. Blaine doesn’t, just slams shut the drawer he was rooting through, pulls open another one. “Blaine, stop.  _Please._ ”

He slows but doesn’t stop, clutching the shirt in his hands tightly as he turns, making an effort to fold this one before putting it in the bag.

“You were serious?” Kurt asks, stepping forward until he’s a few feet from Blaine, sees the way Blaine’s shoulders tense. “You’re just going to pack up and leave?”

Blaine’s silent a moment before he answers.

“Why not? I thought you would… would want that.” Blaine looks up at him, his eyes rimmed with red and Kurt hates that he’s the cause of it, hates it more than he’s hated anything. “Then you wouldn’t have to wor… worry so much.”

There’s a bite to his voice that Kurt’s not familiar with, not anymore. He remembers it though, remembers it from when they would fight in college, when they would makes stupid decisions and have stupid arguments, when they would accuse each other of things they would apologize endlessly for later. He remembers it and he hates it.

“I don’t want that,” Kurt says quietly, tries to reach for Blaine but he flinches away. “I would never want you to leave.”

Blaine steps away, runs his hand over the edge of the bed.

“That’s the problem… isn’t it?”

He looks up at Kurt, eyes wide, like he’s begging for Kurt to understand.

“Do you…” Kurt starts, swallows, blinks back his tears. “Do you  _want_  to leave?”

A beat and then a  _yes_ , so quiet it’s barely riding on the end of a breath. But it’s there and Blaine’s shoulders slump, like he doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore. Kurt’s not sure he does, either. He’s so  _tired_.

“Okay.” It’s all he can say, the only word that makes it from his brain, buzzing and numb, to his tongue, heavy and dry. His vision clouds and he blinks furiously, turns his face away from Blaine because if this is what Blaine wants then okay, he just wants Blaine to be happy. To be okay. And if leaving Kurt is what will make him happy, then Kurt’s not going to fight him. Not anymore.

“Okay,” Blaine whispers back, but the word sounds hesitant and Kurt can see him shifting from the corner of his eye. Can see his mouth open and close, can see him searching for the words to say.

“I… not, um, not forever.”

Kurt glances back up, a turmoil of emotions crossing Blaine’s face, and Kurt knows Blaine’s struggling just as much as he is right now.

“I just…” Blaine starts, kicks at the bed frame. “I just want to be  _able_  to leave with… without you… smothering me.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, honest, reaching for Blaine’s arm and this time he doesn’t flinch away. “I’m sorry I smother you, I just worry about you so much, especially when I don’t know where you are.”

Blaine pulls his arm away and Kurt fights back the urge to groan in frustration.

“You wouldn’t worry  _before,_ ” Blaine says pointedly, motioning towards his head so it’s clear what he means.

“You wouldn’t have forgotten your phone  _before_ ,” Kurt counters, knows they’re headed towards another fight but he doesn’t know how to stop it. Doesn’t know how to make Blaine see.

“People forget phones, Kurt. It’s just a phone! Everyone forgets it some… sometimes. You forgot it… last week.”

“Fine!” Kurt throws his hands up, buries his face in them. “Fine, you’re right. I’m sorry I worried about you and I’m sorry I smothered you and… I’m sorry.”

“Kurt…”

“Just… why don’t you put your stuff away. Please? Please stay?”

Blaine nods and Kurt lets his hands drop uselessly to his side.

“I need to go grocery shopping,” Kurt says softly, turning away from Blaine. He was going to go tomorrow, they can make it through another day but he needs to do  _something_ , can’t sit around here in this house that’s compressing his chest and making it so hard to breathe.

“Can I come with?” Blaine asks when Kurt’s halfway out the door, his voice lifting in a way that sounds almost apologetic.

“Okay,” Kurt says and tries not to cry.

-

The drive to the store starts silent, an awkward weight between them. Blaine shifts in the passenger seat, drums his fingers on his knee, opens his mouth and closes it, swallows. Kurt knows he wants to say something, his eyes glancing at Kurt and back out the window, like he’s unsure of Kurt’s mood, of what is okay to say. And he’s probably still mad, Kurt knows he is, the undercurrents of their fight still flowing through his veins, still itching under his skin.

“So…” Kurt starts and Blaine looks at him, eyes wide, as if surprised he broke the silence. “Um, Penny’s boyfriend broke up with her?”

The words are hesitant and quiet but Kurt hopes Blaine can hear the beginnings of an apology in them. The hope that, with time, they can patch up this rift, sew back together the jagged edges.

“Actually, she… she broke up with… him,” Blaine answers, digging his thumb into his knee before stopping, glancing up at Kurt to see if he noticed. He did, but doesn’t remark on it, knows Blaine’s old coping mechanisms come out sometimes when he’s stressed. “He cheated on her and she found out. She was still really… um…upset about it at group.”

“Poor girl,” Kurt says and he means it. He’d met Penny at group and they’d had her over for dinner after and Kurt had immediately liked her. She’d made Blaine laugh, had touched his arm when she joked, had a connection with Blaine because she understood. She’d been in a car accident on her way home from her high school graduation, had suffered permanent damage to her memory, to the feeling in her fingers and had a hard time focusing on anything that took longer than a few minutes. She understood how hard it was to have your life suddenly and violently rearranged, to have everything you’d once known taken away. “Is she going to be okay?”

Blaine shrugs, eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t know. Her boyfriend said he couldn’t… be with someone who couldn’t even re… remember his birthday. Someone who needed so much help.”

The last words are quiet, said as they pull into a parking space at the store, and they sit for a moment, neither looking at each other but feeling everything so strong.

“Blaine, I-” Kurt starts and Blaine looks directly at him, offers him a timid smile.

“I know.”

A beat and Blaine looks away, opens the car door and pulls himself out. Kurt hurries behind, about to open the trunk to get out Blaine’s walker when he feels a hand on his arm, stilling him.

“I don’t need it,” Blaine says, eyes wide and hopeful, begging Kurt to agree. But all Kurt can see are the tired shadows forming under Blaine’s eyes, the way he’s leaning too much on his left leg, the barely there sluggishness in his movements. He lets his eyes slide shut for a moment, remembers Blaine last week, looking nearly identical, how he’d tried to make it from the bedroom to the kitchen on his own, had abandoned his walker and cane, how his face had hardened in a stony look of determination. He remembers how Blaine wavered slightly, had nothing to grab for balance, his toe catching on the carpet and he’d fallen, had stayed down until Kurt had helped him back up, face red with embarrassment, elbows skinned with rugburn.

Kurt opens his eyes, looks straight at Blaine, the  _no_  tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it. Blaine blinks.

“No?”

“Blaine, you’re tired. I can see it,” Kurt takes a step forward, tries to rest his hand on Blaine’s arm, to let him know he’s still _there_ , that he still believes in him, that he just wants to keep him safe, but Blaine steps away and suddenly it feels like everything said at the house, every angry word, is back, charging the air between them.

“Why can’t you just believe in me?” Blaine asks and the hurt in his voice makes Kurt want to cry because he  _does_  believe him, he believes in him so much and why is Blaine being so stubborn?

“I do, Blaine, but you’re tired and you’re pushing yourself. I just want you to be safe.”

“No, you just don’t want me to do anything.” Blaine’s eyes flash, his lips forming a thin line.

“Jesus, Blaine. Why are you acting this way?” Kurt can hear his voice rising and Blaine just stares at him for a moment before turning and starting to walk towards the store, completely unaided. Kurt groans under his breath before heading after Blaine, his walker still nestled in the trunk.

They don’t speak as Kurt crosses things off from the list and Blaine looks pointedly away from Kurt when he grabs onto the grocery cart for support at one point, his knuckles white,  whole body vibrating with tension. Kurt can’t help the worry that’s growing in him, can see the signs of Blaine working himself up too much, can see him letting his emotions and frustrations taking control and Kurt’s beginning to regret coming here. He should have stayed home where things were beginning to be okay again, shouldn’t have let Blaine start pushing himself so hard. Blaine’s trying to prove something, to Kurt and to himself and he’s ignoring the warnings his own body is giving him.

“We just need eggs and bread and then we can go,” Kurt says, sees the way Blaine’s shoulders tense when he speaks, tries not to think about the duffle bag full of clothes back at home.

“I’ll go get the bread,” Blaine says stiffly, letting go of his hold on the cart and walking away. Kurt thinks of stopping him, of insisting they stay together but the bread is only a few aisles over and maybe Blaine just needs a moment by himself. Maybe Kurt could use a moment to gather himself, to prepare to deal with everything all over again when they get home.

He sighs and pushes the cart forward, tries to focus instead on whether they need a dozen eggs, or if they can get by with six. Blaine’s taken a recent liking to omelets (though Kurt thinks it’s starting to border on obsession) and he’s reaching for the package of a dozen when he hears it.

A crash, and a shout, followed by more shouting, the sound of people running. Kurt doesn’t even think, just reacts, the cart shaking as he pushes away from it,  _not Blaine not Blaine not Blaine_ racing through his head, heart pounding and hands shaking when he sees employees heading towards the bread aisle.

_Nonononono_. He pushes past the small group of people, not bothering to apologize, only needs to get to Blaine, Blaine on the floor, Blaine with blood at his temple, Blaine shaking and grunting and seizing. A woman is by him, her hands hovering like she doesn’t know what to do.

“Get away!” Kurt hears himself shouting, dropping to his knees. He can hear someone saying they’re going to call 9-1-1, can see people hesitating, watching, staring.

“Do you know him?” the woman beside him asks and he wishes she wouldn’t talk because he needs to count, needs to figure out how long the seizures been going on.

“He’s my fiancé,” Kurt answers quickly, glancing at the watch on his wrist. It took him probably thirty seconds to get over here and it’s been at least thirty more seconds which makes a minute and this is already longer than Blaine’s been having and god, he hasn’t had a seizure in months and why is his head bleeding and why are there so many people here, Kurt can’t breathe, doesn’t need to breathe, just needs to count.

The woman keeps talking and he thinks someone says something about an ambulance but he’s not listening, just keeps timing, watching as one minute turns into two turns into three, making sure Blaine won’t hit anything, his body convulsing like a lightning bolt is charging through him and why isn’t he stopping he should be stopping it’s been almost four minutes this is too long  _too long_   _too-_

And then it stops, Blaine’s body stilling, his breathing ragged and heavy and Kurt is there, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He’s gasping and his eyes are closed, his body giving the occasional residual twitch and Kurt takes a short moment to look at the cut on his head, just behind his left temple, so near the old scars.

“What happened?” Kurt asks,  _demands_ , pulling off his jacket to bundle it and gently place it under Blaine’s hand. He looks at the woman beside him, needs to know what happened so he can help Blaine, can figure out what Blaine needs because this is bad, he knows it’s bad, Blaine doesn’t just have seizures like this, not this long and this intense.

“I… I don’t really know,” the woman stutters, obviously frightened. “I wasn’t really watching and he was reaching for something and I think he tripped or something and I didn’t really see but I think he hit his head on a shelf and just collapsed and started… started…”

Kurt just absorbs the information, turning back to Blaine and scooting so he can see his face, his eyes just beginning to blink slowly open.

“You’re okay,” Kurt says softly, his hand grabbing Blaine’s gently, knows that too much stimulation could send him back into another seizure. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

Blaine’s eyes slide up to Kurt’s face, tired and confused, his fingers twitching in Kurt’s grip. Kurt wipes off some saliva from Blaine’s chin, uses his shirt to clean up the blood that’s almost in Blaine’s eye.

“Kur-” Blaine murmurs, his eyelids sliding halfway shut. Tears are heavy and hot behind Kurt’s eyes and he chances gripping Blaine’s hand a little harder, his thumb sliding over Blaine’s knuckles in a soothing pattern.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” Kurt murmurs even though Blaine’s started shaking, small vibrations running through his body, and the cut on his head won’t stop bleeding. He can see Blaine’s eyes try to look around before giving up, exhausted and pained.

“We’re in the store,” Kurt explains, still keeping his voice quiet. “You hit your head and had a seizure. An ambulance is on its way and you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

There’s silence a moment, Blaine’s breathing still heavy and  uneven, his fingers tightening in Kurt’s grip.

“Kur- dun feel-” Blaine slurs, glancing up at Kurt, face slightly panicked and Kurt anchors Blaine’s shoulders, helps hold his head up as his back starts to heave, reaching and coughing as throws up and Kurt starts to worry that this is too much, that Blaine’s going to have another seizure if he can’t relax. He rubs a soothing hand on Blaine’s back, scoots him away from the sick when he finally stops, gently wipes his mouth and cradles Blaine’s head in his lap.

“It’s okay,” Kurt whispers again and he’s not really sure who he’s saying this to, who he’s trying to reassure. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Blaine’s eyes have slid closed, his head still bleeding and Kurt fights to keep down the bile rising in his own throat, fights to keep the memories of the last time Blaine was on the ground with blood soaking into his hair, fights to stay  _here,_ with Blaine because Blaine needs him, Blaine  _needs_ him.

A tear escapes Blaine’s closed eyes, sliding and dripping off the end of his nose, soaking a small spot into Kurt’s pants. Kurt bends down, presses a light kiss to Blaine’s forehead, wants him to know that he’s here, that Blaine’s safe because he has him and he’s not letting go.

“You can rest,” Kurt murmurs, desperately hoping the ambulance will be here soon. “I’ve got you, you can rest.”

And he feels Blaine relax slightly, his fingers loosening in Kurt’s grip, his breaths finally calmer, more even. Kurt keeps up the gentle stroking over his knuckles, starts humming  _You Are My Sunshine_  softly, wants to reassure Blaine that Kurt is here with him, wants him to pull him away from the cold tile of the grocery store, from the overwhelming smell of bread and processed cookies, from the chill in the air and the few people still standing around them.

And then, like a movie being pressed into fast forward, there’s a burst of noise and activity around them, paramedics is starched blue uniforms and Blaine’s pulled from his lap, Kurt’s hand tightening reflexively on Blaine’s before his mind catches up to what’s happening and he lets go. Questions are being asked and Kurt blinks, tries to clear his thoughts and focus, knows he needs to give the paramedics information so they can help Blaine.

_He’s my fiancé_

_He fell and hit his head_

_It lasted four minutes_

_No that’s not normal_

_He has a severe traumatic brain injury_

_Two years ago_

_Yes, he takes Depakote and Baclofen_

_Yes it’s well controlled_

_No, I don’t know_

_I don’t know_

_I don’t know_

_Just help him_

And then they’re moving, an oxygen mask covering Blaine’s face and he’s on the gurney, Kurt racing beside him, his eyes fluttering open and closed as they load him in the ambulance and he’s shaking again, limbs tightening and oh god it’s another seizure this can’t be happening not again no no no and Kurt’s climbing into the ambulance and they’re gone.

-

Kurt hates waiting rooms, with their stupid carpets and stupid chairs and stupid clocks that show the slow creeping of time. He hates the endless waiting, the not knowing, the sympathetic looks from nurses, the stale too hot coffee. He hates that Blaine is somewhere, hurting and he has no control, has no idea what is happening or when he’ll be able to see him again. He knows nothing except the ugly pattern of the carpet, the stain on the back of a chair, the slow tick tick tick of the clock.

So he closes his eyes and he breathes and he waits.

“Mr. Hummel?” A voice draws his attention and he looks up, sees a nurse in purple scrubs smiling down at him gently. “Blaine is situated in a room now, I can bring you back.”

He just nods, not really trusting himself to speak, and follows the nurse, everything too slow and surreal and disjointed around him. She leads him down the hall, passed the ICU which lets Kurt breathe a little easier, stops outside room 322.

“He’s just sleeping now. The doctor will be in soon to speak with you. Just press the call button if you need anything.”

Kurt nods again, is beginning to feel like that’s the only thing he can do anymore, and enters the room. It’s dimly lit, the walls painted tan, adorned with a few paintings that are probably supposed to make it feel more homey. It doesn’t. It feels stifling.

He takes a seat in the chair beside the bed, a painful lump in his throat at the sight of the white bandage on Blaine’s head, the IV threaded into the back of his hand, the paper thin hospital gown. His eyes are closed, face relaxed, jaw slightly open and a tiny smile twitches Kurt’s lips at that. Blaine’s always denied that he sleeps with his mouth open, but Kurt thinks it’s cute, makes Blaine look so much younger than he is.

The blanket has slipped down too low and Kurt lets his hands run over the rough material before pulling it back up to Blaine’s chest. Blaine stirs, shifts his shoulders and lets out a heavy breath, head lolling slightly to the side and he’s back asleep. Seizures always wear Blaine out and after the two he had today Kurt knows he’s going to be exhausted for days. But work has calmed down for awhile and Kurt knows he can take a few days off, stay with Blaine for however long he needs.

A frown creases Kurt’s face when he notices Blaine’s right arm is twitching in little rhythmic jerks, and the fingers of his left hand are trembling when Kurt laces their fingers together. He sits like this for awhile, in the quiet room, watching the slow rise and fall of Blaine’s chest, the twitching of his arm, the drip of medication into the IV. He doesn’t mind waiting anymore, not when he’s here, with Blaine, can watch and listen and make sure he’s okay.

The door creaks when it opens, a doctor in a white lab coat entering. His hair is in slight disarray and Kurt thinks he looks tired, but doesn’t everybody, nowadays.

“You must be Blaine’s fiancé,” the doctor says with a smile, crosses the room and shakes Kurt’s hand. “I’m Doctor Taylor.”

“How is he?” Kurt asks, not wanting to bother with formalities. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We did some scans and Blaine suffered a minor concussion when he fell. Normally someone would recover with a little rest from something like this, but because of the damage and scarring in Blaine’s brain and the fact that he has a seizure disorder, it caused some… overexcitement in his brain, which is why he had such a severe seizure. We’ve given him some sedatives to help try and calm things down, but it might take awhile for him to recover.”

Kurt stares at Blaine, imagines the storm of activity in his brain, how frightening and exhausting that must be, to have your brain betray you in such a huge way.

“What about his arm?” Kurt asks, his eyes flickering up to the doctor’s.

“Blaine hit the left side of his head when he fell. As I’m sure you’ve been told, the scar from his old injury is an epilogenic center for seizure activity. We’ve managed to stop the seizure activity from covering his whole brain, but he’s had pretty constant seizure activity in his left brain. It should calm eventually with the sedation.”

“Oh.” It’s the only word that Kurt can think to say, his mind feels numb with the information, with words he’d hoped he’d never have to hear again.

“I understand Blaine’s made a pretty spectacular recovery from his brain injury?” His voice is soft, free of prying and Kurt nods, gives the slightest of smiles.

“Yeah, he… he’s been amazing.”

“Blaine is very strong, Kurt. He’s made an amazing recovery already. The concussion might set him back a bit, in areas like coordination and speech, but I have high confidence in his abilities. Especially with your support.”

Kurt’s mouth feels dry because it’s his support that put Blaine in here, his overbearing and nagging and Blaine was so right. He should never have pushed Blaine to this point and just like the attack it’s all his fault.

The doctor listens to Blaine’s heart, shines a light in his pupils and adjusts his medications before leaving. Kurt lets his hand clasp Blaine’s again, leans forward to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, an  _I’m_   _sorry_  murmured in his ear and he waits and tries not to cry.

-

There’s an ache in his back and a crick in his neck and Kurt blinks his eyes open, wonders when he fell asleep in a chair. And then he sees the ugly tan walls, the paintings, the IV pole, and his brain struggles to catch up. Blaine. The store. The seizures. The concussion.

Blaine.

Hazel eyes are on his, tired but aware. Kurt notices his arm has stopped twitching and everything seems a little brighter with the sun making its way through the cracks in the curtains.

“Hi,” Kurt says softly, reaches to take Blaine’s hand. “How do you feel?”

Blaine wets his lips with his tongue before speaking. “Like I have a… hangover.”

His words are slightly slurred but Kurt can’t help but laugh, squeezes Blaine’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he says, brushes a stray curl from Blaine’s forehead. “Do you need pain medicine?”

Blaine gives a slight shake of his head, lets his eyes squeeze shut for a moment.

“The nurse… told me what…” He stares at their hands, his fingers giving a tiny wiggle. “You were right.”

ldquo;Right about what?” Kurt asks, voice soft and encouraging. Blaine’s silent a moment and Kurt can see him struggling for words, isn’t sure if it’s the concussion or medication that’s making speaking so much more difficult for him.

“-bout me. That I... can’t do these things.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, eyes wide and Kurt can see they’re starting to shine with tears and he shakes his head viciously.

“No. I wasn’t right, Blaine. I should have listened to you.”

Blaine looks down and a tear makes its way down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kurt says, scoots forward in his chair to be closer to Blaine, holds his hand as tightly as he can. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I pushed you too hard. I made you think you had to prove something to me.”

He lets his thumb trace down Blaine’s cheek, wipes away his tear, cups his jaw gently.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me. I was the one who was wrong, Blaine. I should have supported you more and I’m so sorry.”

There’s silence for a moment, broken only by the sound of Blaine’s sniffing, and Kurt kisses the edge of Blaine’s mouth. Blaine leans into the touch and Kurt’s not sure how his heart is still in one piece, it feels ready to shatter against the wall of his chest.

“I just…” Blaine whispers, the words wavering and choked and he has to take a break to breathe, to gather what he wants to say. “I’m so…  _tired._  I’m tired of… of always failing and ending up… here.”

Kurt pauses a moment before answering, watches Blaine, so small and fragile on the white hospital bed, his hair mussed from sleep, eyes framed with tired shadows.

“Can I?” Kurt asks, motioning to the space beside Blaine. Blaine nods and gives a watery smile and Kurt helps Blaine scoot slightly over before settling into the bed next to him, drawing Blaine against his chest and tucking his head under his chin, his hand drawing gentle lines down Blaine’s arm.

“I know you think you’re always failing, Blaine but you’re  _not_. You’ve been doing so, so well and I should have been telling you. I should have told you that the omelet you made me was the best omelet I’ve ever had, that sometimes I sit outside the bathroom when you shower just to listen to you sing because you’re  _so_  good, that I love how you’ve been ironing all my shirts so perfectly. I should’ve trusted you Blaine. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Blaine lifts his right hand, captures the one Kurt’s running down his arm, tangles their fingers and crosses it across his chest, anchoring himself to Kurt.

“I promise I’ll… call you,” Blaine whispers and Kurt feels the tears pricking his own eyes, gathering hot in the corners. “I won’t f… forget my phone again.”

A shaky breath in and Kurt presses his lips into Blaine’s hair.

“We’ll work it out, I promise. Everything will be okay. We’ll figure things out.”

“We always do,” Blaine murmurs and Kurt can feel his head started to droop against his chest, knows he’s getting tired again.

“We always do,” Kurt echoes and it’s true. They have highs and lows, have rough patches and moments where Kurt could burst with how happy he is. They have fights and arguments and they’ve never been able to work out which fabric softener they should buy and Kurt will forever use a Mac while Blaine stays faithful to Windows. But despite everything, they always work it out, they always learn to work together, to find the middle point. And they’ll do it again. No matter how difficult it might be.

“-love you,” Blaine mutters in a quiet breathe his body relaxing against Kurt’s safe and warm in Kurt’s arm and Kurt lets his cheek rest in the soft pillow of Blaine’s hair.

“I love you too.”


	21. Each and Every

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just been so hard, you know? I’ve started to forget that there are decent people around. That someone might actually want to help us, not hurt us and…” Kurt sucks in a deep breath, his eyes misting and Janessa wishes there was something she could do, something that could take away the hurt that’s so obvious in Kurt when he lets his guard done. “And I couldn’t stand it if someone hurt Blaine again. I really couldn’t.”

_Janessa Little_

_June 6 th, 2018_

The first time Janessa meets Kurt his face is pale and drawn. He worries his bottom lip constantly and his fiancé’s mother holds his hand through the meeting. His hair looks like he was going to style it and gave up, his clothes slightly too baggy and his eyes hold the remains of too many tears shed too many times. It makes her sad.

She’s read about Blaine, his injury (traumatic), his rehab (extensive), his prognosis (hopeful), his needs (total). She’s read and memorized because this is a big job and she needs to know if she’s a good fit. But she hadn’t read about Kurt, doesn’t know much about him aside from the metallic tone his voice gets over the phone, that he’s an assistant fashion designer, that he loves his fiancé very much. Now she wishes she had, she wishes Kurt had been included in the information because now he’s here, sitting in front of her with tortured, lost eyes and she knows nothing about him.

They’re meeting in the coffee shop of the hospital. Janessa sips her coffee nervously, Kurt and Jen Anderson’s untouched. The air between them feels thick, full of nervousness and uncertainty. Neither Kurt nor Jen look ready, prepared for this next step. For what this means.

“Tell me about yourself,” Kurt says after a silent moment, leaning back stiffly in his chair.

“Well, I’m twenty-one and I’m in nursing school. I worked in a nursing home as a CNA for five years and…”

“Janessa,” Kurt cuts her off and she stops, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest because what if she said something wrong already, what if Kurt doesn’t want her, what if she’s not what they’re looking for? But then he gives her a slight smile, as if he can sense what she’s feeling. “I read your resume. Tell us about  _you_.”

“Oh, um,” Janessa starts, wrings her hands together under the table. She generally considers herself a confident person and isn’t usually caught this off guard, but there’s something in the way Kurt’s looking at her, like he’s just as unsure as she is that makes her want this, makes her want to help him. To help this family, however she can. She doesn’t want to screw this up.

“It’s just, this is new for me,” Kurt says before she can continue. “I’ve never thought… never imagined I would have to be doing something like this and I just want to make sure that we find the best fit for Blaine.”

Jen squeezes Kurt’s hand.

“Of course,” Janessa says, nodding. She wants to take a sip of her coffee to ease the tension, to give her a moment to collect her thoughts but her hands have started shaking and she doesn’t want Kurt to see how nervous she is. Wants to seem calm and collected, like the perfect person for them to welcome into their life. “About me. Well, I’m in nursing school but I’ve always loved the arts. I paint, or try to paint, and I’ve been trying to sell some jewelry I’ve made on Etsy, but I’m still waiting for my big break through.”

She gives a shaky laugh and Jen smiles at her encouragingly.

“Um, I have three younger siblings. My brother has Down’s Syndrome and I spent a lot of time taking care of him. He means the world to me, and he might be the feistiest person you’d ever meet.”

“What’s his name?” Jen asks, looking genuinely interested. Janessa feels herself relaxing, slightly, just enough to lean back a little in her chair. “Andrew. He’s sixteen now. He’s the one who pushed me to go into nursing. He really helped me want to make a difference in people’s lives.”

Kurt nods, his face softening as he considers her. “So what made you decide to apply for this position? Why do you want to work with Blaine?”

Janessa takes in a deep breath, knows this is the important part. This is what decides it.

“Honestly, I think this would be great experience. I’ve always been interested in the brain and in, um, neurotrauma.” She doesn’t miss the way Kurt flinches slightly at the word, the way he looks down at his coffee, eyes hard. She swallows and continues. “But mostly, when I read your story, I felt touched. I have a boyfriend that I love more than anything and if something ever happened to him… I don’t know what I’d do. Reading about what happened, about what you and Blaine are going through, it made me want to help, in any way that I can.”

“Thank you, Janessa,” Jen says, reaches across the table to touch Janessa’s arm with a smile. “You seem very kind.”

She doesn’t know how to take this, the kind smile on Jen’s face, the way Kurt is still staring into his coffee. This family is damaged, hurt and struggling, she can see that and maybe it’s too much to ask , to be included, maybe it’s too much for them right now, with so many changes in their lives but-

“Please,” she says suddenly, trying to catch Kurt’s gaze. “I haven’t even met Blaine yet and he’s all I’ve been able to think about for days. I looked up your story on the news and it just makes me so  _angry_  what those people did. It sort of makes me want to put on spandex and hunt them down and go all vigilante on their sorry asses but I know I can’t, as much as I want to and so I want to help in whatever way I can and wow, I’ve probably just said too much.”

Janessa bites her lip, brushes her hair back behind her ear and stares at her hands.

“Do you want to?” Kurt’s voice draws her attention back up and she blinks. “Meet him, I mean?”

Kurt smiles gently and there’s something in his eyes that Janessa hasn’t seen yet. Hope, maybe?

“Yes, I would love to,” she replies quickly and her heart hammers even faster, racing anxiously in her chest. Kurt and Jen share a quick look before standing.

“He’s upstairs,” Kurt says, motions for her to follow him.

There’s a tired slump in his shoulders, a weight in his step and Janessa  _aches_ , has barely known him for half an hour and already feels connected to him, wants to lift his burden in any way she possibly can. She’s nervous, so, so nervous about meeting Blaine, about saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing. Nervous that maybe she can’t help, that she won’t be able to make a difference, but that makes her all the more determined. Determined to help, to make a difference, no matter how small, in this couple’s life.

They take an elevator up two floors, go down a hallway and turn once and then they’re pausing, in front of a wooden door decorated with pictures of smiley faces that look like they were drawn by elementary schoolers.

“Blaine’s a music teacher,” Kurt explains when he sees Janessa looking and she can’t help the pang that shoots through her at Kurt’s use of present tense. “His students drew these.”

And then he opens the door, lets Jen enter before him, ushers Janessa through. It’s cozy inside, the room a warm tan with wood paneling and soft lighting. Sunlight streams through partially open blinds and there’s a duffle bag in the corner, a small stack of papers and books that make it look homey, like people spend a lot of time in the room.

“Hey sweetie,” Jennifer is saying, stepping close to the bed and Janessa watches as she leans to kiss Blaine’s forehead. His eyes are blinking like he just woke up, slow and hazy. She’s seen pictures of him, but they were from before, smiling, healthy pictures of Blaine sitting under a tree, Blaine holding hands with Kurt at Christmas time. This boy… he looks completely different. His eyes look tired, framed by dark shadows, his cheeks sunken, his skin pale like he hasn’t seen the sun in a long time. His lips are parted, the left side drooping a little lower than the right and his hair is clipped short, red scars winding across the side of his head, just above his ear.

“We’ve brought someone to meet you.” Jen sits in the seat beside Blaine, her hand stroking across his arm and Blaine’s eyes trace across the room, his head turning slightly until it lands on them. Kurt smiles, honestly just lights up when he looks at Blaine, and he rests his hand on Janessa’s shoulder, guides her forward.

“Blaine, this is Janessa. She might be helping out when you come home,” Kurt explains, motioning to Janessa. Her mouth feels dry but she swallows and smiles, nods her head towards Blaine.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, taking a step forward and telling herself to stop being nervous. Blaine is just a person, a person who had something really horrible happen to him, who needs some extra help, but is still himself. Still a person who deserves everything anyone else does.

Blaine’s eyes move over her face, like he’s examining her. His expression doesn’t change, stays almost disconcertingly neutral, but his fingers twitch, his hand lifting a few inches above the bed, almost like he wants to shake her hand. So Janessa reaches out, lets her hand wrap around Blaine’s. His skin is warm, soft like someone has recently put lotion on it and she gives his hand a small shake, her smile growing genuine when he squeezes back.

She lets go, watches as Kurt brushes a piece of lint from Blaine’s shoulder, sees the careful and tender way he is around him, sees the way his eyes glimmer when he looks at Blaine, sees how Blaine keeps glancing up at Kurt, nothing but trust in his face, and she knows.  _This_  is love. This is what she wants to help preserve, no matter what.

Something stirs deep inside her and she clears her throat, licks her lips and smiles honestly at Blaine.

“Kurt was just telling me that you teach music,” she says, Blaine’s eyes flickering back from Kurt to her. “My best friend and I have a band. We call ourselves the Damned Damsels.” She lets out a laugh that’s more nervous than anything but Blaine is watching her with what looks like interest so she continues. “She thinks we’re amazing but really we kind of suck. It’s probably because I can only play the tambourine and she can only play the harmonica but we work it.”

Kurt chuckles and Janessa ducks her head a little.

“I bet, if this works out, that you could give me a tip or two. Or, if you have some sort of vendetta against tambourines we could do whatever you want to do. We can paint pictures or go to the park or sit around all day in our pajamas, that’s generally my favorite thing to do.”

Blaine shifts his shoulders a little, makes a tiny noise in his throat and lifts his pointer finger, glancing up at Kurt in an almost expectant way.

“That means yes,” Kurt explains, smiling at Janessa. “One finger means yes and two means no.”

“Awesome,” Janessa says, mind already racing with everything she could do with Blaine. “We could do some finger painting, maybe? I have lots of art supplies. Stickers, glitter, feathers. You look like someone who appreciates the expertise of incorporating feathers into their art. Actually you probably know better and will completely show me up. We’ll scratch the feathers then and stick with the glitter and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Janessa looks up at an amused Kurt, a smile tugging at his lips and she turns back to Blaine, leaning in close and lowering her voice just slightly.

“Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous. Especially when I’m around someone as hot as hubby here,” she says, nodding towards Kurt and Blaine laughs. It’s choppy and quiet but it’s a real laugh and Kurt’s eyes snap wide, face an expression of  surprise.

“Well you are pretty hot,” Janessa says to Kurt with a shrug, feeling lighter than she has all day and she knows that she could get along with Blaine, already finds herself wanting to stay and work with him, to put a smile back on his face. Back on both their faces.

Blaine is lifting his finger in a way that Janessa imagines he’s agreeing with her and Kurt shoots him a look that she can see him using before, maybe when they would playfully argue or Kurt would catch Blaine checking him out in public. It makes her laugh and Blaine lifts his hand a few inches towards Kurt, who threads their fingers together. Blaine lifts the hand so it drifts towards his chest and Kurt smiles, leans to kiss his forehead.

Jen stands suddenly, gives Blaine’s hand a squeeze before turning to Kurt. “I’m going to grab some more coffee, give you guys a few moments to talk things over?”

Kurt nods at her gratefully.

“It was so nice to meet you, Janessa. I would love for you to work with my son,” Jen says, drawing Janessa in for a quick hug before turning and closing the door quietly behind her. Blaine’s still watching her, his eyes blinking and Janessa thinks he looks a little tired, but he’s still squeezing Kurt’s hand, still clinging and observing.

Kurt motions to the now empty chair, before sitting in his own chair. Janessa takes a timid seat, trying to keep the smile on her face.

“So I won’t be making a final decision today, I need to talk things over with Blaine and his family first, but if you are still interested in working with us, we would like to go over a few things?”

“Of course,” Janessa says, making sure to nod at both Kurt and Blaine because she can see they’re in this together. They’re in everything together.

“So we just bought a new house, it’s has a ramp and we’ve been working on making it fully handicap accessible,” Kurt explains and his voice has a new tone to it, like he’s trying to take control but he’s still uncomfortable, still unsure. “You’d be doing a lot of running around, taking Blaine to therapy. We’ve been trying to work out a schedule and it looks like he’ll be coming here four days a week. He’ll have things that we’ll need you to work on at home too.”

“Totally,” Janessa nods, and she can see Kurt shift, clutch Blaine’s hand a little tighter.

“Uh, Blaine will need help with all of his, um, cares, so you’ll have to be comfortable with helping him takes baths and use the bathroom and get dressed and everything.”

“Completely comfortable,” Janessa says, as warmly as she can, can see the slightly embarrassed tinge to Blaine’s cheeks, the way he’s looking at his lap. “Whatever Blaine needs, I’ll be there. I’m fun to boss around, I promise.” She takes a chance, reaches out and lightly touches Blaine’s arm and he looks up at her, eyes clouded but a tiny smile lifting at his lips.

“Blaine, do you want to show her your feeding tube?” Kurt asks gently and Blaine lets his fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt, Kurt waiting patiently as he tries to get a grip, only reaching forward when Blaine glances up at him, helping him to hook his fingers under the material and lift his shirt up to his ribs, exposing the little white button. “He’ll get his meals and meds this way, so you’ll need to be comfortable with this too.”

“Of course,” Janessa tries to reassure because she really is comfortable with doing anything for them, there’s not much that could gross her out or scare her off but she can see how new and frightening this is, for both Kurt and Blaine, can see how much they’re struggling to keep control and how important this is, making sure everything goes well. “I’m fine with doing anything you need me to do, both of you. Honestly. I want to be here for you guys and to make life maybe a little bit easier. So if you need to get groceries or run to appointments or clean bathrooms or kill bees, I’ll totally do it. I’m comfortable with personal cares and medical cares, and anything else you could possibly need me to do.”

Kurt nods, a range of emotions flashing across his face and Blaine’s started blinking tiredly, probably starting losing interest as sleep creeps nearer, and Kurt strokes his thumb over Blaine’s hand soothingly.

“Thank you,” Kurt says after a short moment, his voice a little quieter. “This meeting has actually gone much better than I expected.”

“Really?” Janessa asks, feels touched. Blaine’s eyes have slipped closed now, like he’s given up the fight to keep them open and Kurt smiles at him, a sad sort of smile.

“The first person we interviewed didn’t realize that we were gay and took one look at us and left. That was fun.”

Janessa gapes, anger starting to bubble in her veins because so far Kurt and Blaine have probably been the sweetest people she’s ever met and she can’t imagine someone just leaving like that. “Kurt, I’m so sorry. What a bitch.”

Kurt laughs, a dry laugh, looks up at Janessa. “It’s just been so hard, you know? I’ve started to forget that there are decent people around. That someone might actually want to help us, not hurt us and…” Kurt sucks in a deep breath, his eyes misting and Janessa wishes there was something she could do, something that could take away the hurt that’s so obvious in Kurt when he lets his guard done. “And I couldn’t stand it if someone hurt Blaine again. I really couldn’t.”

Hot tears prick behind Janessa’s own eyes but she swallows them down, reaches across to touch Kurt’s forearm gently.

“I want to help, Kurt. I know I’m practically a stranger, but I really want to help you keep Blaine safe. I want to help him, and you, because I can already tell you deserve it.”

Kurt sniffs, lifts his hand to wipe at his eyes, gives a shaky laugh. “Well, I’ve never broken down like this in front of a stranger so I think you might already have an in.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Janessa says with a wink just as Blaine gives a tiny snuffle and a sigh, already deep asleep.

“He had a long day,” Kurt murmurs, collecting himself, drawing his shoulders up and returning to the poise of the Kurt she first met. “They’ve, um, been working on standing so that it’s easier to help him transfer. It’s good but I know it wears him out.”

“It sounds like he’s been working hard.” She keeps her voice soft, glancing at Blaine and smiling at how peaceful he looks when he’s sleeping.

“He has, he’s been amazing,” Kurt looks at her and she can see how much he means it, how proud he is of Blaine. “He’s coming home next week and I took the week off of work to help get him settled. I’d love for you to come by sometime next week if you can, I could show you the house and we could go over a few more things?”

“That would be perfect.”

“Great,” Kurt smiles and starts to stand, hesitates. “So, um, can I give you a hug?”

Janessa stands, something warm spreading through her and she wraps her arms around Kurt’s waist, her head barely coming up to his shoulder but it’s nice. He’s warm and gives her a squeeze and she can hear his breath catching in his throat.

“Thank you so much, Janessa. For the first time I feel like something might be starting to go right.”

She lets her eyes flutter shut, breathes him in and squeezes back before letting go.

“I’d love to help things try and stay right,” she whispers and for the first time she feels like she’s actually doing something with her life, like she could make a difference and really  _help_  someone. “Tell Blaine I really enjoyed meeting him?”

“Of course,” Kurt says, glancing back at Blaine. “He liked you.”

“I look forward to seeing both of you again,” Janessa says, reaching forward to give Kurt a firm handshake and he laughs and Janessa wonders how it’s possible for this couple to already affect her so much.

She knows she’s here to stay.

 

_Laura Brooks_

_June 19 th, 2018_

The last day, they have a party. Blaine’s been in the unit for over a month, has silently charmed his way into the hearts of all the nurses and no one wants to see him go. Laura knows she’s not supposed to choose favorites, that all her patients are equally important, but she can’t really help it. She’s going to miss Blaine, a lot.

He’s leaving the next day and she can tell he’s anxious to leave the hospital, knows that no one really likes to be here for so long. They have the party in the lounge, hang balloons from the ceiling and Blaine smiles widely, Kurt sitting next to him and clutching his hand tight. The room is busy, so many nurses and therapists and aids coming to say goodbye, everyone ready with shining eyes and hugs.

“We’re going to miss you,” Laura says, tries to keep the wobble out of her voice, blinks back the tears as she leans down to wrap her arms around Blaine, feels him returning the hug. “I won’t have anyone to read books with anymore.”

She pulls away, smiles tearfully down at Blaine before turning to wrap Kurt in an equally tight hug, is so happy for both of them.

“You guys are going to do great,” she says, sniffs and laughs, embarrassed. Blaine’s become such a constant, always there to smile at the nurses, to listen when she would read to him, pucker his lips adorably when she would apply the chapstick Kurt had brought for him. “You have to promise to come visit sometime.”

“Of course we will,” Kurt assures, reaches forward to squeeze her shoulder. “You have all been so wonderful to us, we’ll definitely come visit.”

(And they do, on the one year anniversary of Blaine’s discharge, Blaine walking in with his walker, Kurt’s hand on his back, his voice crisp and clear as he greets everyone and there isn’t a dry eye on the unit. After having so many patients, so many goodbyes and losses, to see someone getting better, to see everything going right, it’s truly  _amazing._ )

“Thank you,” Laura says, kisses Blaine’s cheek, and says goodbye.

 

_Robert Anderson_

_December 5 th, 2018_

“Can you get that?” Robert shouts when the house phone rings, leaning back in his chair to make his voice carry further. He’s holed himself up in his study for the day, has what feels like a hundred accounts to audit, and very little time to do it.

But the phone keeps ringing and Robert wonders if Jen’s gone out, or maybe she’s napping. Whatever the reason, he gets up with a grumble, jogs out to the living room to grab the phone on its last ring before the answering machine picks it up.

“Anderson’s,” Robert answers gruffly, glancing across the room. It’s nearly five, he supposes he can afford a few moments of a break.

There’s only breathing on the other line, a clicking noise and Robert sighs, about to hang up when a tiny voice makes it through, a muttered, “dad?”

Robert blinks, hand tightening on the handset. “Blaine?”

“Hi.” The word is quiet, breathy and stilted but Robert sinks onto the couch anyways, closes his eyes because it’s  _Blaine_ , his son, and he’s…

“You’re talking,” Robert says dumbly, can’t really think of anything else to say because it’s been  _months_  since he’s heard his son’s voice, since he thought he might never hear Blaine’s voice again.

“Pr… prac,” Blaine starts, falters, and Robert can hear quiet encouraging, knows Kurt must be with him. “Pr…acticing,” Blaine manages and Robert can almost see the smile on his face, the way he’s probably looking at Kurt right now, that hesitant look for approval he so often gets.

“You sound great, Blaine. I…” Robert draws in a deep breath. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

There’s a rustling sound, like Blaine’s dropped the phone and is scrambling to pick it back up and Robert waits patiently, no longer cares about how long this call takes. He hasn’t always been patient with Blaine, hasn’t been as understanding of a father as he could have been, but he’s determined to make up for that now, to always be there when Blaine needs him.

“Wa…anted, uh… surprise,” Blaine mumbles, voice no longer very confident and Robert can tell how much effort this is taking, knows Blaine probably spent all day, all week even, planning this phone call.

“Well, I’m surprised,” Robert says, lets out a shaky laugh. “Such a good surprise.”

A hesitant pause, Robert wonders if he should say something, what there is to say.

“How… you, um,” Blaine grunts in frustration, the gentle sounds of Kurt in the background again.

“How am I?” Robert tries, hears Blaine give a small hum in assent. “I’m good. I’m…”

_I’m sorry, I love you, I wish I could take everything away and make it all okay again._

“I’m so proud of you.”

A pause, then a whispered, “thanks.”

“You sound good, Blaine. I… I can’t believe you’re calling.”

“Kur… um, he to…old me… to.”

“You tell him thank you from me, okay?”

A noise that sounds like a small laugh comes through the phone and Robert smiles, can’t help himself.

“kay,” Blaine says. He can hear a tired note in Blaine’s voice, wonders how much work just this phone call has been for him.

“I love you, Blaine.” Robert presses the phone closer, like he can somehow bring Blaine closer by doing so.

“Love you,” Blaine returns and Robert has to bite his lip, thinks he can count on one hand the number of times Blaine has said those words since he came out.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Robert says, doesn’t really trust himself to say anything else. “Make sure to call again soon, okay son?”

“I… will,” Blaine promises. “Bye.”

“Bye, Blaine,” Robert whispers, holds the phone to his ear even after Blaine hangs up, scrubs his hand across his face. His heart is beating too fast in his chest, his fingers ache from how tightly he’s gripping the phone and despite everything, he smiles.

Blaine’s getting better.

 

  
_Sarah Hudson_

_December 25 th, 2018_ 

Sarah presses her face to the glass, eyes wide as saucers as she stares out the window. She’s never been to New York before, has never really been outside of Ohio and she’s never seen so many lights before. She can see tall buildings in the far distance, snow drifting and catching the headlights like thousands of twinkling Christmas lights and to her it seems like magic. Like she got off the plane into a completely different world and she wonders if she hasn’t seen her uncles in so long because they’re stuck in this magical place.

“Sarah, honey, this is a rental remember? Don’t get the glass dirty.” Mel’s voice grabs her attention, a hand on her shoulder pulling her back and she grunts because her mom always ruins her fun. So she turns her attention to bouncing on the seat excitedly, looking between Mel and Finn.

“How much longer?”

“A little bit, be patient,” Finn says and Sarah crosses her arms, slouching in her seat because she’s just so  _excited_  and now dad has to come and ruin her fun too.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve seen your uncles, isn’t it?” Carole asks from the front seat, turning around to smile at Sarah and she nods, exclaims “forever!”

Carole chuckles, reaches back to ruffle her hair and Sarah giggles.

“Do you think Uncle Kurt will make cookies with me again?” She remembers the last time she saw her uncles, Kurt let her stir the dough and they both took turns sneaking some when her mom wasn’t looking.

“I think I remember Uncle Kurt telling me he’s been dying for someone to help him make some sugar cookies,” Carole says, winking at her and she bounces again, clapping her hands together.

“Can we decorate them?”

“I’m sure Uncle Kurt would love to decorate them with you,” Mel says, giving Sarah’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Sarah wiggles because she’s been waiting for so long for this trip and now there’s lights and cookies and it all seems like a dream come true and she’s decided she loves her uncles.

“Uncle Blaine gave me a piggy back ride once!” she declares after a moment, looking to her mom and dad expectantly. “If I ask nice will he give me one this time?”

There’s silence for a moment and both Finn and Mel’s faces have turned that serious expression they do when they talk about grown up things.

“Remember what we talked about, sweetie?” Mel says, brushing her hands through Sarah’s hair. “About Uncle Blaine?”

Sarah nods, biting her lip and looking at her lap and hoping that she didn’t just do something wrong. “That Uncle Blaine got hurt.”

“Uh huh,” Mel continues in that soft mom-voice she uses when Sarah knows something is serious. “You need to remember, okay? He can’t do as many things as he used to do, so you need to be extra nice to him.”

Sarah gives another serious nod because she  _is_  going to be nice to Uncle Blaine, she just doesn’t understand. “But he hurt his head, not his arms.”

Carole reaches back to take Sarah’s hand, giving a little squeeze. “Hurting his head hurt him all over, honey.”

“Uncle Blaine is going to be different from what you remember,” Finn explains after her Grandma, and Sarah doesn’t like that they’re all using their grown up voices with her but she’s trying really hard to understand because she likes Uncle Blaine and wants to have fun with him. “He was hurt really badly and you need to be extra good around him.”

“I will,” Sarah promises, looking up at her parents with wide eyes. “I’ll be extra good.”

And she’s good for the rest of the car ride, patiently looks out the window and only squeals a little bit when they finally, _finally_ , pull into the driveway.

“Whoa,” Sarah says when they get out of the car, holding onto her mom’s hand so she doesn’t slip on any ice. The house is average looking, not any more exciting than her house back at home, but there’s a long wooden ramp leading up to the front door, like a slide that’s not quite steep enough. She thinks it looks fun.

A mix of excitement and nervousness grows inside when they ring the front door because she hasn’t seen her uncles since Easter and she’s always a little bit anxious seeing people for the first time. But then Kurt is answering the door and hugging everyone and inviting them in and his eyes widen when he sees her and he scoops her up, twirling her in his arms.

“Oh my beautiful niece, it’s been too long,” he says, pressing kisses to her cheek and she giggles, shaking her head because that’s sort of gross.

“Hi Uncle Kurt,” she says when he stops spinning her, a wide smile on her face and he holds her in a tight hug before plopping her back on the ground.

“You’re getting so tall, I can’t believe it! How old are you now, twenty?”

Sarah giggles into her hands because Uncle Kurt is so weird. “I’m five silly!”

“Nearly twenty then,” Kurt says, winking at her dad for some reason. “Did you have a good flight?” She nods, letting her mom maneuver her around to take of her winter coat.

“They gave me cookies!” she exclaims and Kurt raises his eyebrows and smiles because everyone loves cookies.

“I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in making cookies with me then, hmm?” he teases and she nods her head vigorously.

“Please can we make cookies?” she pleads and Kurt laughs, leaning down to plant a kiss on her head and why does everyone insist on kissing her all the time?

“Of course we can. Tomorrow, alright?” She nods again and her mom takes her hand, giving it a small squeeze in the way that Sarah knows is supposed to remind her to stay calm and be good. Kurt’s motioning for them all to come in, leading them passed the entrance and the grownups are all talking but Sarah isn’t really paying attention, mesmerized by the tinsel and wreaths decorating the house, the smell of something delicious cooking and the wrapped presents under the tiny artificial tree.

But then they’re in the living room and the conversation has grown quieter and Sarah looks up to see Uncle Blaine on the couch, smiling at them. She doesn’t really know why but she finds herself hiding behind Mel as everyone greets him, leaning in for hugs or handshakes. Blaine’s greeting them softly and Sarah can’t really hear what he’s saying but Carole is telling him how good it is to hear his voice again and Finn is clapping him on the back and everyone seems really happy and Sarah is just starting to feel confused.

“Sarah, don’t you want to say hi to Uncle Blaine?” Finn asks her and she tucks herself further behind her mother’s legs, only peeking her head out.

“Hi,” Blaine says, ducking his head a little and lifting his hand to wave at her. She waves back but doesn’t move forward, staying firmly behind Mel. She knew Uncle Blaine had been hurt, she remembers when her dad left for a week to come out and help, remembers them explaining things to her with tears in their eyes but she hadn’t really understood that it was more than when she sprained her wrist riding her bike, more than just a scraped knee that could be easily fixed.

Uncle Blaine looks different, in a way she can’t really explain, his smile uneven and his hair a little too long and he’s sitting stiffly, like he’s uncomfortable and there’s a wheelchair next to the couch, like the one Timmy in her class has but bigger and she didn’t know he needed one of those. Kurt’s taken a seat on the arm of the chair, his hand on Blaine’s shoulder and Sarah buries her face into her mom’s leg because this is so different than she imagined and she really wanted a piggy back ride and to play with her uncles and now everyone is acting so quiet and strange.

“Are you hungry, Sarah?” Kurt asks and she nods.

“We’ve had a long day,” Mel explains and she can hear people moving around, peeks out from behind her mom.

“Well, I’ve got dinner mostly ready, it’ll just be about half an hour and we can eat, okay?” Everyone agrees that dinner sounds perfect, it is almost seven, and with a kiss to Blaine’s head, Kurt leaves for the kitchen, followed by Carole and Mel. Burt sits on the couch beside Blaine and Finn stays back to usher Sarah to the bathroom. He makes sure she thoroughly washes and dries her hands after she goes potty before squatting down to her level.

“Hey cupcake, can I ask you a question before we go back out?”

Sarah nods, her lower lip already beginning to jut out because this is the voice her dad uses when he wants to talk about something serious.

“Why didn’t you say hi to Uncle Blaine?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah answers softly, staring down at her feet. Finn reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Are you scared?” he asks, and Sarah pauses, thinks about it for a minute, before shaking her head.

“Are you nervous?”

She thinks again, bites her lip and nods.

“Why are you nervous? Do you think you’re going to hurt him?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, nodding at the ground. “He’s different.”

“I know, he seems different now but he’s still your Uncle Blaine. You just have to be extra nice and gentle to him. Think you can do that?”

“Uh huh.” She looks up at her dad, and he pulls her in for a quick hug.

“You don’t have to be nervous around him, he’s been looking forward to seeing you. Uncle Kurt told me.”

“I’ll be good,” she says when her dad lets go and he stands back up, smiles down at her.

“Cool.” He takes her hand and leads her from the bathroom.

The kitchen is bustling with activity and Finn is roped into helping set the table. Sarah gets her pink backpack from where her mom put it by the front door, skips back to the living room. She still hesitates when she sees Blaine, glances between him and Burt on the couch.

“You wanna come sit?” Burt asks, patting the couch beside him. Sarah clambers up beside him, Burt giving her shoulder a pat and Blaine smiling at her. She’s nervous again even though her dad said not to be, but she can’t really help it. She’s not sure what she should say or do and she doesn’t want to get in trouble for saying something wrong and everyone is making noise in the kitchen but it’s so silent in here.

“Did… um,” Blaine starts, his voice cracking little and he swallows, his cheeks turning red and Sarah wonders if maybe he’s nervous too. But that would be silly because grownups don’t get nervous. “Your flight… okay?”

Sarah wiggles a little, glances up at Burt because she’s sort of confused.

“Yeah, it was Sarah’s first flight, wasn’t it?” Burt answers, looking down to Sarah and she nods proudly.

“Yeah! It was scary when it got bumpy though,” Sarah says, actually looking at Blaine this time and he nods seriously.

“There was a lot of turbulence,” Burt explains and Sarah tries to repeat the word but it comes out sounding more like “tub’lance.”

“Hey Sarah, why don’t you show Uncle Blaine your wing sticker?” Burt asks, giving Sarah’s shoulder a nudge.

“Oh!” She digs in her backpack before finding the right sticker, gold and glossy and pretty much perfect. Burt gives her a tiny shove, and she hesitates for only a moment before scooting across the couch until she’s right next to Blaine.

“Look, Uncle Blaine!” She holds the sticker up so he can see, moving it so that it can catch the light and shine. “The pilot gave it to me.”

“Wow,” Blaine says with a smile, lifting his hand to touch it gently. “It’s pr…etty.”

Sarah looks up at Blaine, tilts her head and considers him.

“Can I hold your hand?”

“Course.” Blaine smiles at her, reaches to take her hand in his much bigger one. His fingers are cold and she holds them carefully in her hand.

“Daddy says I need to be gentle.”

Blaine lets out a small laugh, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“I’m tough,” he says, bumping against her softly. “I can… take it.”

She grips his hand a little harder, scoots herself a little closer and smiles widely up at him. Dad was right, she realizes, there’s no reason to be nervous of Uncle Blaine. He looks just as excited to see her as he always does.

“I’m going to go see if they need help with dinner, do you two need anything?” Burt asks, standing abruptly and gently touching Sarah’s shoulder and looking really happy about something. She shakes her head because she mostly just wants her grandpa to leave; she can see him any day and she has things to show Uncle Blaine, he should know that.

“I have lots more stickers,” Sarah announces proudly, pulling her backpack onto her lap. “Do you want to see them?”

“I’d… love too,” Blaine says and she struggles to open the backpack one handed before Blaine lets go of her hand so she can successfully unzip it. She pulls it open and holds it up so Blaine can see inside.

“Wow,” he says, sounding impressed, as he should be. “That’s, um, a lot of… of stickers.”

“I know,” Sarah says seriously because her stickers are a serious thing. “I have a collection.”

She starts sorting through the stickers and pulling out her favorites, setting them carefully on Blaine’s leg, explaining each one. Blaine listens intently, occasionally asking her a question about them and sometimes she can’t really understand him because his voice is sort of funny now, but she’s glad that someone  _finally_  appreciates her sticker collection. They sort them by color, spreading them across both Blaine and Sarah’s lap and Blaine keeps knocking them onto the floor and she can’t stop giggling.

“Do you want one?” she asks after a little while, looking up at Uncle Blaine.

“I… love one,” he says with a smile and she bounces a little, turns back to examine the stickers closely, looking for the perfect one. It takes her a moment to settle on a green dinosaur with purple spots, holding it up proudly and waiting for Blaine’s nod of approval. Biting her lip, she concentrates on peeling off the back before twisting as much as she can, considering and placing the sticker on the collar of Blaine’s shirt.

“There!” she exclaims happily and Blaine reaches up to pat the sticker down.

“P… perfect,” Blaine smiles and motions to the stickers. “You?”

Sarah picks out a sticker for herself, a pink sparkly flower, peels off the back and tells Blaine to stick it to her cheek, which he does obediently. She claps excitedly when Kurt enters the room, plops himself down beside Sarah, squishing her between the two of them.

“What are you guys up to?” he asks and Sarah frowns at him because is he blind?

“I’m showing Uncle Blaine my stickers!” she proclaims, gesturing towards the ones still spread out on their laps. “I gave him one, see.”

“Wow, a dinosaur.” Kurt reaches to smooth his finger over the sticker on Blaine’s collar, who’s turned to show it to him.

“Do you want one too?” Sarah asks because she has another green dinosaur and it would make sense if they had the same one.

“That would be great, Sarah,” Kurt says, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. She squirms under him before digging out the other sticker, patting it onto his shirt.

“There. Now you match because you love each other.” Sarah says it like it’s a fact because it is. Sometimes her mom wears her dad’s clothes in the morning so they match and she knows it’s because they’re married and love each other.

“We do,” Kurt says, standing and leaning to kiss the edge of Blaine’s lips and Sarah makes a face because why do grownups always want to do that in front of her? “And now you need to go wash your hands because it’s time for dinner.”

Sarah quickly gathers her stickers up, putting them back in her backpack because she’s  _starving_ , stands to the side as Kurt helps Blaine get into his wheelchair.

“Can I ride too?” she asks because she sat in Timmy’s wheelchair once and it was really fun. Kurt looks down at Blaine hesitantly who nods and pats his legs. Sarah lets Kurt hoist her onto Blaine’s lap, Blaine wrapping his arms around her waist and she squeals when Kurt starts to push them into the kitchen.

“I love you Uncle Blaine,” Sarah says when she’s finished laughing, turning in Blaine’s lap to wrap her arms around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek.

“You too,” he whispers back, holding her tighter and resting his cheek on the top of her head.

-

The next morning Sarah stirs awake and doesn’t know where she is. She’s squished between two bodies, an arm draped over her and at first she thinks she must have fallen asleep in her parents’ bed. But she doesn’t remember have a bad dream or being scared and her parents wouldn’t let her sleep with them otherwise.

So she peeks one eye open and sees a full head of curly hair, giggles and blows away a strand that’s by her lips. Uncle Blaine gives a wide yawn and stirs, smacks his lips together and blinks his eyes open. Sarah giggles again because he looks sort of silly with his hair all messed up and a goofy grin on his face. He reaches up to boop her nose, his fingers still painted an array of pink and purple and green, glitter and stickers still stuck to his pajamas.

There are blankets and pillows all around them, the soft glow of Christmas lights illuminating the room. They’d stayed up way past her normal bedtime building a blanket fort, Kurt and her gathering up as many blankets and pillows as they could find, Blaine watching from his comfortable pillow throne. Blaine had let her paint his nails and draw flowers on his arms with markers (at least until Kurt had told her that she wasn’t allowed to draw on Uncle Blaine because he couldn’t run away) and they’d made glitter cards out of Uncle Blaine’s art supplies and Kurt had braided her hair in a million little braids and her uncles are  _way_  cooler than her parents.

They’d fallen asleep close to midnight, wrapped up under a mountain of blankets in their fort and Kurt had left the lights on the Christmas tree on, Sarah snuggling in between them and kissing each of their foreheads before falling asleep and she’s pretty sure this has actually been the best Christmas ever.

Until now, when Kurt rolls over, probably reaching for Blaine, squishing Sarah underneath him. She squeals and squirms out from under him, pressed against Uncle Blaine who’s started laughing. Kurt starts awake, surprised, his mouth curling into a smile when he looks at Sarah and Blaine.

“Well I didn’t know I was going to wake up next to such a beautiful princess,” he says, leaning forward to plant a sloppy kiss on her forehead.

“Eww,” Sarah protests and Kurt gets a look on his face that Sarah doesn’t like before he jumps in, starts stickling her sides. She screams and tries to run away, backs up over Blaine and collapses across his stomach.

“Save me ,Uncle Blaine!” she shrieks and Blaine’s arms are covering her, providing protection from Kurt who’s towering over them, leaning in and…

There’s a smacking noise and all of a sudden Sarah realizes they’re kissing and what is it with grownups and kissing, seriously? She squirms out from between them, making disgusted noises and Kurt is laughing, his arms wrapping around Blaine as he snuggles into his side, reaches one hand out to tuck a tiny braid behind Sarah’s ear.

“Morning,” Uncle Blaine whispers and Sarah makes a face, crosses her arms pointedly.

“Can we have pancakes for breakfast?” she asks, hoping to get her uncles to stop kissing each other and start doing something else instead. Something more fun and tasty, preferably.

“Love pancakes,” Blaine says in agreement, looking at Kurt expectantly. Kurt sighs dramatically before sitting up, helping Blaine to sit up, propping some pillows against the couch that he can lean against.

“Pancakes it is.”

And so Sarah decides that her uncles are probably the coolest people ever, no matter what. 

 

_Helena Dershowitz_

Helena learns a lot about her neighbors with her morning tea. She sits at her front window, tea balanced on a saucer, cat balanced on her lap, and watches. She was the first to know when the next door neighbor, Phyllis, had an affair with the mailman, was the first to knit baby hats after the nice young pregnant couple rushed screaming to the hospital. She knew all the dirt on Mr. Morris, who consistently raked his leaves into Ed Herman’s yard every fall, was secretly (or not so secretly, her husband Earl would argue) rooting for the couple who would stop and talk every morning while walking their dogs (and don’t think she didn’t notice how the dogs would cuddle up next to each other in a way only dogs in love do).

So when the house across the street ha  _sold_  lapped across the For Sale sign in the front yard, Helena had waited and watched. When a ramp had been built up to the front door she’d readied her invitation for her weekly Bridge night (ever since Pauline’s heart surgery they’d been down one player), had hoped that maybe whoever moved in next door would be a nice old couple with an affinity for knitting.

She’d met Kurt first, a nice boy with fancy hair like she’d seen on TV. He’d accepted the welcome basket of cookies and muffins with a smile and a graciou  _thank you_ , though his eyes had been tired, a weight in his step. She’d spent the next week making him a beautiful blue throw blanket, sitting in rocking chair, watching from the window.

She’d met Blaine when she brought the blanket over, Kurt inviting her inside, offering her tea and telling her how nice it was to have neighbors who actually wanted to get to know each other. Blaine had been sitting on the couch, had lifted his hand in a tiny half wave when Kurt introduced them, watching Helena with wary eyes. She’d promised them more goodies, told them they could pop by if they ever needed anything, to not hesitate to call.

From then on, she’s watched. She’s watched the two pretty girls going in and out of the house, bringing Blaine somewhere nearly every day. She’s watched Kurt pushing Blaine as they take their daily walks, always smiles and waves on the days she’s settled herself on the front porch. She likes watching them, has even hung a rainbow flag in front of her house in support (Earl had just shook his head, muttering something about today’s youth before kissing her cheek and heading inside). She’s made a point of bringing the young ladies hot chocolate when they’re out shoveling snow, bringing Kurt casseroles and cakes when she thinks he’s looking too thin.

December, Kurt invites her and Earl over for Christmas dinner, and Helena can’t help but compliment Blaine’s lovely voice when he greets her. He blushes and Helena can’t wait to tell her friends at Bridge on Wednesday how much better Blaine’s doing, about how maybe they should think of inviting him to one of their games. Bridge can be good for the mind and the soul, she’s sure of it. Or maybe Blaine will want to pick up knitting, it could help with his finger dexterity, she’s positive.

She has so many plans, so many ideas, so many cookies to bake and friends to gossip with, so many possibilities presented by her cute neighbor boys.

But when, on a cold Saturday morning in January, Helena sees Blaine walking outside, leaning heavily on a walker with Kurt’s supportive hand on his back, his steps cautious but sure, a grin on his face and pride in Kurt’s eyes, all her plans simmer, no longer seem as important. Because these boys are finally happy, finally getting there, finally overcoming.

She wipes her tears away with her handkerchief, pets her cat, and drinks her tea.

 

_Jen Anderson_

_February 20 th, 2019_

Kurt looks tired when he opens the door. His hair is uncombed, the bags under his eyes stark against his pale skin. Jen pulls him into a hug and he feels loose and boneless. A rag doll, without any support. She holds him for a moment and he sinks into her warmth and she wonders how long it’s been since Kurt’s had someone to suppor  _him_.

“You look exhausted,” Jen says when she releases Kurt and he shrugs, eyes sad.

“Blaine’s had a rough week.” Jen knows. It’s why she came out. She can still remember the way Kurt’s voice had cracked on the phone, the way he had sounded so frantic an  _lost_ , like he didn’t know what to do anymore. Like he needed help, but didn’t know how to ask for it. He has Janessa, and Olivia, but they are only here for so long, and then it’s just him and Blaine, and Kurt just can’t do it on his own anymore.

“How is he now?” she asks and Kurt leads her inside, taking her jacket.

“He hasn’t had any more seizures, but he’s had a migraine since last night.” He looks in the direction of their bedroom, wringing his hands nervously. “I was going to take him in tomorrow if it gets any worse, but I don’t know what else they can do.”

Kurt looks so desperate, eyes looking into her’s expectantly, pleadingly as if he’s looking for confirmation. For support. Fo _help_. He’s trying so hard to do the right thing, to take care of Blaine, but it’s not enough and he’s doesn’t know where to go anymore.

“Can I see him?”

Kurt nods. “I don’t think he’s sleeping.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “You could see if he feels up to drinking something.”

The room is dark when Jen enters and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s voice, quiet and shaky cuts through the silence as Jen makes her way across the room and sits gingerly on the side of the bed.

“No sweetie,” she responds. She can barely make out Blaine in the bed, curled into a ball and looking so small under a mound of blankets.

“Mom?” He sounds so young in that moment that Jen wants to cry. She can almost pretend he’s still a kid, sick with the flu, naïve and innocent, ready to explore the woods behind their house or run rampant on the playground. Almost. Instead she traces a gentle finger down Blaine’s cheek and whispers, “I’m here.”

Blaine makes a choked noise, whether from relief or something else Jen isn’t sure. She scoots as gently as she can on the bed, not wanting to jostle Blaine, and he reaches for her hand, squeezing tightly.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” she asks softly, though she can guess the answer.

“-m pill,” Blaine mumbles. The door opens a crack, Kurt slipping in, shutting it softly behind him. Jen looks from Blaine’s pale face to Kurt’s worried one.

“Can he have his pill?” she asks and Kurt nods, approaching the bed, resting a hand lightly on Blaine’s arm.

“Blaine, honey, do you think you can drink something?” Blaine is still for a moment before nodding. Kurt meets Jen’s eyes before leaving, Jen runs her thumb soothing over the back of Blaine’s hand until Kurt returns, glass in one hand and pill in another. He looks at Jen nervously and she nods.

“Blaine, I know it sucks, but I need you to sit up for me alright?” Kurt keeps his voice soft, knows that even the slightest noise is painful for Blaine. He can see Blaine stealing himself, taking a deep breath before nodding. Jen runs an arm across Blaine’s shoulders, moving slowly and carefully, trying to make the transition to sitting as smooth as possible. Blaine bites his lip, eyes squeezing shut and hand reaching to squeeze Jen’s leg as she pulls him up against her chest. A tight feeling constricts her chest and she slides her free hand under Blaine’s, anchoring him. He holds on, his grip tight.

“How are you doing, sweetie?” Jen whispers, eyes flickering from the side of Blaine’s pale face to Kurt’s worried one. Blaine keeps his eyes closed, lips pressed thin, gives his head one small shake. She can see the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, the sudden shortness of his breath, can feel the way he holds onto her hand like a lifeline. Kurt’s already moving, setting the water on the bedside table and grabbing the small garbage can, holding it ready.

“Do you feel sick?”

Jen holds him steady as he nods, leans slightly forward as Kurt rests the garbage can in his lap. He’s still a moment, breaths shallow and face tight, before he shudders, coughs. Kurt rubs a soothing hand on his leg, Jen keeping a gentle grip on his back. She can feel the way he’s holding back, knows how much this must be hurting him, wishes there was something more she can do. But she can’t, and Kurt can’t; all they can do is offer their silent support, wait while Blaine dry heaves over the garbage can.

He lets out a choked moan that twists Jen’s stomach when he finishes, Kurt wordlessly snatching up some tissues and wiping Blaine’s face free of the escaped saliva with gentle, practiced care. But this is what Kurt has been doing, taking care of Blaine  _helping_  laine, devoting everything to Blaine, and as much as Jen wishes she could take all of this away, make everything better, she knows her son couldn’t have found a better partner. That Kurt really i  _everything_ , and now, she wouldn’t want him to be with anyone else.

Kurt takes the garbage can when he’s sure Blaine won’t be sick again, Blaine slumping back against her. She pulls him into her, strokes gently down his arm. They’re silent for a moment, Kurt sitting cautiously on the edge of the bed, giving Blaine a moment to recover.

“How do you feel?” Kurt asks after awhile, voice barely audible, but Blaine winces as if the words were shouted.

“Not so good,” Blaine responds after a beat, words slow and slurred and Jen understands why Kurt looks so exhausted. Why Kurt called her, almost begging for help. Because it hurts too much to do this alone, it’s draining and i  _hurts_  o see Blaine in so much pain, to try and try and not be able to do anything to help him.

“Can you swallow this?” Kurt motions to the pill tucked in his palm. Blaine doesn’t respond, just jerks his head ever so slightly to the left, squeezes Jen’s hand at the motion. She  squeezes back.

“Do you want your Imitrex?” Kurt keeps his voice soft, Jennifer can see the reluctance on his face to ask questions when any noise causes Blaine pain, but understands the necessity.

“Yeah,” Blaine says with a whimper, his free hand drifting halfway to his head before falling back on the bed. Kurt just nods, face drawn and tired, moves off the bed, exits the room once more. Jen doesn’t say anything, knows just her presence is more comforting to Blaine than any words could be, just keeps up her gentle back and forth on his arm, thumb running over the rough fabric of Blaine’s shirt. Blaine keeps his hand wrapped in hers, fingers twitching every so often, grip tightening with the pain.

Kurt returns, a white plastic case in his hands. Without a word he sets it on the bedside table, pops it open and fiddles with it before pulling out a small plastic cylinder. His face is apologetic as he pushes up the sleeve of Blaine’s t-shirt. Jen hold Blaine’s arm steady as Kurt pinches up the skin, presses the cylinder. There’s a sharp click and Blaine gives a small flinch, Kurt’s lips moving silently as he counts, waits.

“It’s a shot,” Kurt explains quietly as he pulls away from Blaine’s arm, lets the shirt sleeve fall back in place. “For when it gets bad, like this.”

Jen nods, can feel Blaine loosening, ever so slightly, against her, hand relaxing his grip on hers.

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt rests a light hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”

Blaine cracks open a bleary eye, looks up at Kurt.

“Jussleep,” he says quietly, words slurring together into one.

“Okay,” Kurt says with a weak smile, brushes the back of his hand against Blaine’s forehead. He glances at Jen, she can see the weight, the unsure, the desperation in his eyes as he hesitates.

“I’ll stay with him,” she whispers and Kurt nods gratefully, leans forward to press a gentle kiss to Blaine’s cheek before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him with a click. Blaine gives a tiny whimper, his shoulders tensing against Jen and she hums a soothing note, lets her hands trace down his arms.

“Relax sweetheart,” she says, uses the same quiet tone she used to use when he was sick as a little boy. “I’m here with you. I’ve got you, I promise.”

-

The next morning, Jen wakes with a start. Something jabs into her side and she bolts up, a heavy weight falling into her lap. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she looks down, sees an amused face looking up at her.

“Oh, Blaine, I’m so sorry, did I wake you?”

He shakes his head, still smiling up at her. “I think… I wok  _you_  p,” he says, voice tired but sounding so much better.

“You always were a wiggly sleeper. Your dad liked to call you his little fish out of water.”

“Kurt, um, Kurt says that… too so… sometimes,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzling his cheek into her lap and yawning. Jen lets out a tiny relieved laugh, cards her fingers through Blaine’s sleep-tangled curls.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Jen asks, though she can already tell, Blaine’s eyes so much brighter than they were yesterday. “How’s your head?”

“Mmm, better,” Blaine answers, twisting around in bed, arching his back in a stretch. “Glad you… you’re here.”

Jen leans down, smacks a kiss on Blaine’s forehead, breathes him in and hopes that today will be a good day, that she won’t have to see him as sick as she was yesterday. She’s seen him sick, stayed home from work when he was little to take care of him when he had the flu, the occasional head cold, that time he’d gotten the chicken pox from his friend in day care. But this… it’s so different. Blaine is grown now, an adult, engaged and trying to make a life of his own, and seeing him like that, so broken and beaten down and in pain… it’s hard.

“I’ll always come when you need me,” Jen promises, smiles and Blaine hums a word that sounds faintly lik  _thank you_ , lets his eyes flutter shut as pulls the covers back up over his shoulders.

“Where’s Kurt?” he asks after a moment of Jen stroking her fingers through his hair, smoothing down the curls that always twisted at the nape of his neck. She considers, not really sure. He’d popped in once more the night before, checking on Blaine and then she must have drifted off, cozy and warm with Blaine curled up against her.

“I’m not sure,” she answers, just as the door creaks open, Kurt’s head peeking in.

“I heard voices,” he says and Blaine twists to see, smiles that bright smile he gets when Kurt is around, the smile that warms Jen’s heart, that makes her want to hold Kurt tight and tell him how happy she is that Blaine has him.

“We’re awake,” Jen says, beckons Kurt inside. He slips in the door and perches on the side of the bed, Blaine immediately reaching to twine his fingers with Kurt’s.

“You look better,” Kurt muses, strokes his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles. Blaine nods, tongue darting out to dampen dry lips.

“Where…”

“I slept on the couch,” Kurt answers, knows what Blaine was asking, smiles up at Jen before she can say anything. “It was fine, really. I wanted you to stay with Blaine.”

“Thank you,” Jen says, reaches forward to squeeze Kurt’s shoulder.

“You guys hungry?” Kurt asks, voice hopeful as he glances at Blaine and Jen knows it’s been a rough couple of weeks, knows there’s no guarantee that Blaine’s going to feel this well for very long.

“Pancakes?” Blaine smiles innocently up at Kurt and Jen laughs, shakes her head at Kurt’s eye roll, the way he leans forward to press a kiss to Blaine’s lips before saying, “I think we can manage that. You guys just stay here, today seems like a good day for breakfast in bed.”

And so Jen helps Blaine prop up some pillows, leaning back against the headboard next to her, lets him show her the book he’s been working on reading, the journal he’s been keeping. He’s tired but he’s happy, and right now, happy is better than anything Jen could have hoped for.


	22. Under These Fluorescent Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing perfect really lasts forever.

_June 1 st, 2017_ 

It’s raining, coming down in sheets, lightning streaking the sky. Kurt stares grimly out the window of the flower shop, wonders why today is the day he forgot his umbrella. He glances at his watch as he meanders down the aisles, knows what he wants but trying to see if the storm will abate. But it’s already creeping on six o’clock and he was supposed to meet Blaine half an hour ago and it’s his  _birthday_  for Christ’s sake but Kurt would be a lousy person if he didn’t get his fiancé flowers on today, of all days.

“I don’t think it’ll be letting up for awhile,” the shop owner says, looking at Kurt apologetically. Kurt sighs, looks at the bouquet in his hands - a delicate mixture of lilies and daffodils, Kurt had long ago decided roses were too cheesy for birthdays - admits defeat and pays. He supposes if Blaine’s been with him for this long, he won’t care if his hair is a little messed up from the rain.

The cashier gives him an extra bag, out of sympathy Kurt supposes, and he tucks the flowers under his arm, creates a makeshift hood from the plastic bag, sucks in a deep breath and makes a run for it. He’s immediately soaked, the freezing rain pelting at his skin and soaking through his jeans and he silently curses the weatherman who said that today would be clear and sunny. Dodging the daily obstacles of small children and joggers stuck out in the rain, he makes his way home as fast as he can, stares grumpily at anyone who dares to look at him on the subway.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment (and never has a building looked so beautiful as it does through a veil of frigid rain), he gets stuck holding the door for their elderly neighbor and her hoard of knitting friends. She pats his shoulder and tells him to send her birthday wishes to that ‘cute roommate of yours’ and Kurt just smiles and says he will before opting to take the stairs up to their apartment and not crowd in an elevator full of eighty year olds with knitting needles.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Kurt says when he enters the door, slightly out of breath and kicking off his boots. Rain is dripping down his face, soaking uncomfortably into his shirt, the bag of flowers crinkling in his hands as he makes his way into the living room. “Did you get my…”

He trails off, a smile tugging at his lips. Blaine is sprawled out across the couch, a book lopsided on his chest, his lips parted with sleep. There’s a green cone party hat strapped to his head, his hair curling adorably around the edge, and Kurt can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he creeps forward, settling himself above Blaine on the couch. Blaine’s eyes blink open at the shift, a sleepy smile growing on his face.

“You look like someone drowned a cat,” Blaine murmurs, reaching a hand to brush a wet strand of hair behind Kurt’s ears.

“You look like you just turned five,” Kurt shoots back, raising his eyebrows at the cone strapped to Blaine’s head. Blaine sticks his tongue out and not for the first time Kurt wonders if he’s spending too much time with the kids he teaches, but in a moment of forgotten maturity he decides to retaliate, leans in close and shakes his head, raining droplets of water on his face. Blaine scrunches his nose and swats at Kurt, causing him to lose his balance and roll off the couch, landing on the floor with an ungraceful thud.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asks, leaning over the edge of the couch and sounding actually concerned and if Kurt were a better person he might feel bad for what he's about to do, but he's never claimed to be a saint so he reaches up to hook his hand on Blaine's arm, pulling him down to the floor with him. "You're all wet." Blaine whines, but he doesn't try and pull away, just pulls his lips down to make a face.

"Only because I got stuck outside getting you flowers," Kurt says and Blaine's eyes widen with excitement and everything about him is so adorable and happy and  _free_  that Kurt is struck with one of  _those how did I ever get so lucky, what did I do to possibly deserve_   _this_  moments that steals his breath straight from his lungs. With a stretch he rolls over to grab the flowers from where he'd set them next to the couch, presenting them to Blaine and blinking his eyes coyly.

"Happy Birthday." Blaine clutches the flowers, the yellow of the daffodils making his eyes glow a warm amber and he cranes his neck to press a kiss to Kurt's lips, holding the flowers up so they don't get crushed between their bodies.

"They're beautiful," Blaine says when they pull apart, thumbing along the edge of a petal; Kurt doesn't think he'll ever get over how genuinely touched Blaine always seems by these simple gestures, by flowers and kisses and texts sent with X's and O's. Blaine springs to his feet, Kurt rolling over on the ground (and he doesn't care that he looks less than dignified right now, because he's with Blaine, Blaine who makes a habit of doing things like rolling around on the floor or taking naps under tables or leaving birthday hats strapped to his head), watches as Blaine makes his way across their tiny apartment to pull out the small crystal vase from the top shelf in the kitchen, fills it with water before carefully arranging the flowers in it.

"I wish flowers could last forever." Blaine's voice is light in that way it gets when he really means something and Kurt pushes himself to his feet, ignores how damp and uncomfortable his clothes are, walks over to bump Blaine's shoulder with his own.

"Nothing lasts forever." Blaine looks over at Kurt, raises an eyebrow.

"Someone's a little ball of sunshine today."

"Someone is soaking wet and on the verge of hypothermia," Kurt retorts and Blaine looks contemplative for a moment before wrapping his hands around Kurt's shoulders, manhandling him back to the bedroom.

"Well, I think someone should take a shower and warm up then."

"Maybe someone could  _help_  me warm up..." Kurt trails off, leaning in to nuzzle his face against the crook of Blaine's neck and shivering because he really is freezing. "And I could give you your birthday present early."

"Present?" Blaine asks, pulling away and looking at Kurt suspiciously. "I thought we agreed we were too broke to do presents this year."

"Sex, Blaine," Kurt deadpans, has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Your present is sex."

"Oh, well..." Blaine steps forward, eyes darkening and glancing up and down Kurt's body in the way that never fails to make Kurt's knees a little weak. "I suppose, in that case..."

-

They shower and warm up and shower again.

-

Blaine's perched on the counter, his hair in that state somewhere between wet and dry, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants and looking utterly comfortable. He's watching Kurt make his birthday cake with a cocked head, looking contemplative.

"What are you thinking about?" Kurt asks, cracking eggs into the bowl.

"About why you won't cook naked for me," Blaine responds immediately, a smile pulling at his lips. Kurt turns to glare at Blaine, before reaching for the spatula (and maybe he purposefully bent over a little further than necessary, took a few seconds longer than he really needed).

"You just saw me naked, for at least..." a glance at the clock, "an hour and a half."

"It's my birthday?" Blaine tries, blinking hopefully at Kurt. Kurt just shakes his head, amused and continues stirring the cake mix (and yes, it is a box mix, but Blaine had begged for a funfetti cake for his birthday and who was Kurt to say no?). He listens to Blaine tell him about his day, the birthday party his students threw for him and another student with the same birthday, how he had to intercept a fight that somehow led to Play-doh stuck on guitar strings, and how he had to end the day by calling poor Trenton's mother because he couldn't seem to stop stealing recorders.

"Who knew being a music teacher would have so much drama," Blaine whines but Kurt knows he still loves it, every day he comes home light with the fact that he's making an impact in these kids' lives, every time one of his students asks about private lessons Kurt can't wipe the glow off Blaine's face for weeks.

"Awe, my poor baby," Kurt says with a smile, offers Blaine the spatula. "Here, have some cake batter." Blaine licks the batter off the spatula in one long swipe, some catching on his lower lip and dripping down his chin. He ducks his head, cheeks reddening in embarrassment but Kurt just takes a step forward, his hand resting lightly on Blaine's thigh as he leans forward, thumbs up the batter from Blaine's chin with his thumb.

"Mmm," Kurt moans exaggeratedly, winking at Blaine as he sucks the batter from his thumb. A glint appears in Blaine's eyes as he watches, and he reaches to stick his finger in the cake batter before Kurt can stop him, swiping it across his nose.

"Oops," Blaine says innocently, leaning forward and Kurt gives a breathy laugh. "I'm not going to fall for it."

"Well then," Blaine says slowly, sticking his finger in the cake batter again, this time swiping it across Kurt's cheek. Kurt stands still, his breath catching when Blaine perches dangerously at the edge of the counter to kiss the spot of cake batter on Kurt's cheek, his tongue darting out quickly to scoop it back up. Something warm blossoms in Kurt, deep down and he wonders if it's silly that this boy still makes him feel this way, despite their struggles and fights and the fact they're still trying to make it through, trying to sort everything out, or if maybe that's the reason he still feels this way, because they're figuring it out  _together_.

So he nuzzles his nose against Blaine's cheek, lets his eyes close and takes a moment to just breathe him in, the warm, earthy scent of him, mixed with the overly-sweet cake batter.

And then he attacks.

He dips his fingers into the batter, because screw it, and smears them over Blaine’s cheek, like a mockery of war paint. Blaine laughs, that high pitched giggle he gets when he’s really excited about something, and he grabs the flour left out, dusts a handful into Kurt’s hair. Kurt blinks in shock, shakes his head and the flour poofs out, falling down onto their clothes.

“Oh now you’ve done it,” Kurt growls, steps in between Blaine’s knees, wraps his hands around his lower back and pulls him in closer. He feels around behind Blaine until he finds a handful of sugar, leans in close enough that Blaine tilts his head to the side, baring his neck and fluttering his eyes shut… and Kurt shoves the sugar down the back of his shirt.

Blaine squirms, but smiles mischievously.

“Excellent, a sugar scrub,” he says, leans in against Kurt’s chest. Kurt nips at his nose, presses a kiss to his lips. “You pay good money for these.”

“Sugar scrubs off the dead skin,” Kurt murmurs, lips still brushing against Blaine’s check.

“Mmm, sexy,” Blaine returns, nuzzles his cheek against Kurt and Kurt lets his eyes drift shut, tries to step in even closer. “Dead skin.”

“Shut up.”

“Never.” Kurt gives Blaine’s chest a playful shove, and he tilts back, his head smacking against the cupboard with a loud thunk.

“Oh god, Blaine! Are you okay?” Kurt rushes to ask, immediately trying to assess the damage, and he probably just concussed Blaine on his birthday and he’s the worst fiancé  _ever_  and Blaine will never…

His eyes close of their own accord when something cold and gooey blankets over him, drips off his hair into his eyelashes, down onto his clothes. Cake batter, he identifies when he licks his lips, the entire bowl of it, dumped onto his head. He blinks open slowly, a glob falling onto his shoulder, and he can feel a chunk slide down his neck, slipping under his shirt. Blaine is giggling like a madman and Kurt just stands there, sucks in a deep breath and counts to ten.

“The wedding is off,” Kurt says firmly, taking a step back and wiping cake batter from his eyes in as dignified manner as he can. Blaine slides off the counter, pouting. “Nope, you can’t win me back this time.”

Blaine gives an exaggerated whimper, smoothes his hands down Kurt’s shoulders, steps in so he can nuzzle against Kurt’s throat, draws back with batter on his nose.

“I’m made of stone,” Kurt says, backing up, feels the wall hit his back.

“Mmm,” Blaine hums, licks a stripe up Kurt’s throat. “Delicious stone.”

“Cold, heartless stone,” Kurt counters, but his voice is light, a laugh swallowed at the end.

“Maybe I can help you melt a little,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzles in closer and Kurt can feel his heart speed up, pounding an excited rhythm in his chest and he’s more than ready for round three.

“I think you’re mixing your metaphors,” Kurt breathes back, his hands already reading to try and pull off Blaine’s t-shirt, his hands slippery-sticky with cake batter.

“It’s not a metaphor,” Blaine says, voice muffled by his shirt as he frantically pulls it at his head.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Kurt returns but he really doesn’t care, because Blaine’s now pulling at his shirt, undoing the buttons, his breath heavy and excited when Kurt finally shucks the shirt to the ground, and then their bodies are pressed together, slick cake batter in between.

Mouths search each other out, hands sliding down sides and digging fingers into backs, and Kurt can’t hold in a moan when Blaine sucks his lip into his mouth, gives it a light tug before releasing it.

“You taste good,” Blaine says in one heavy breath, his hands roaming over to slide up Kurt’s chest, palms warm and rough.

“That’s the cake,” Kurt breathes, digs his fingers into Blaine’s side a little harder and rolls his hips forward, feels the strain against his zipper, longs for it to be released but doesn’t want to let go of Blaine.

Blaine, who mouths down his jaw, his thumb rubbing a circle over Kurt’s nipple, making his whole chest tingle. Blaine, who drops his hand down, cups the hardness in Kurt’s jeans and Kurt can’t bite back the groan when his hips jerk forward, acutely aware of the hummingbird beat of his heart, the sweat that’s starting to sheen on his skin.

And he surges forward, presses against Blaine and whips him around, slamming him back against the wall. Blaine growls under him, grinds into Kurt, kisses him frantically, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have. Kurt lets his hands drift down further, smoothes back over the curve of his ass before making their way down his legs. He anchors Blaine against the wall, whispers in his ear “I’ve always wanted to do this,” before hoisting Blaine’s legs up, wrapping them around his waist.

Blaine immediately leans into him, his arms flinging themselves around Kurt’s neck and Kurt supposes it would be hot (like in the movies that he rents with Blaine late on Friday nights), except that Blaine’s gripping too tight, his legs clinging around Kurt’s waist desperately, and they’re slightly off center and Blaine is  _heavy_  and Kurt just can’t keep balance and they’re toppling, falling in a heap.

They twist, so Kurt’s body is heavy on top of Blaine’s and he can feel the way Blaine’s chest is heaving under his, the way he’s laughing, his arms moving up to wrap around Kurt’s back, sliding down in the space between in his pants and his ass. Kurt anchors his hands on the kitchen floor, looks into Blaine’s eyes as he slowly thrusts his hips forward, feels the ache as his cock strains against his jeans.

So as quickly as he can he pushes himself up onto his knees, acutely aware of Blaine’s eyes on him as he rushes to unbutton his jeans, shimmies them down his legs, not even bothering to get them further than his knees before he’s pulling up Blaine’s hips, yanking of his sweatpants in one swift motion. And then he’s surging back, mouth colliding with Blaine’s and his hips thrusting up in a messy, uncoordinated rush. Blaine arches up against him, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallowed moan and Kurt kisses down his neck, sucks gently against his collar bone.

The moment stretches on, time moving in that funny way that it does with the warmth of an orgasm begins to coil deep in his belly, when Blaine is spread out and gleaming under him, when everything is warm and stifled and slick around him. The edge creeps closer and Kurt’s arms begin to tremble, Blaine eyes fluttering closed and Kurt briefly wonders how hard the kitchen floor is underneath him before Blaine’s crying out, his fingers digging into Kurt’s skin, trying to find purchase.

Kurt follows shortly after, his hips stuttering to a stop as his orgasm sweeps through him and he collapses on top of Blaine, lets his too-warm body pillow under him, tries to ignore the sticky feel of their come pressed between them.

“God, you’re so hot,” Blaine breathes, still slightly out of breath, pushes a strand of Kurt’s hair from his forehead and Kurt frowns.

“Even covered in sweat and cake batter?”

“Especially covered in sweat and cake batter,” Blaine replies seriously, leaning his head up to press a quick kiss to Kurt’s lips.

“I think I might still keep you,” Kurt says, trails his finger down Blaine’s flushed cheek.

“Yay!” Blaine exclaims with a wiggle, and he rolls Kurt over so they’re lying side by side. And Kurt ignores the mess of their bodies, the fact that they’re going to have to shower again and do some thorough cleaning of the kitchen, because right now he’s here with the love of his life and everything is pretty much perfect. As perfect as anything Kurt could have imagined.

-

Nothing perfect really lasts forever.

 

_May 13 th, 2018_ 

Blaine’s favorite mornings are the ones he wakes up to Kurt’s voice. He’s confused when he first wakes up, his eyes blinking sluggishly open to a room he’s pretty sure he should know but doesn’t remember. The walls are tan and he spends hours staring at them when Kurt’s not around, when he’s not being moved or rolled or poked.

Mostly he sleeps. It’s the only thing he can think to do, and usually he can’t even think at all, and he just feels so tired all the time. So tired it weighs down his arms, his legs, won’t let his eyes open completely. He doesn’t like it, being so tired, isn’t really sure why he is. He’s not really sure about much actually. How he got here, where he is, what happened. He knows it’s not right, that something is wrong, can tell by the anxious tone in Kurt’s voice whenever he’s around. Knows by all the people coming to sit beside him, to hold his hand and brush fingers gently down his cheek.

He just watches them, sometimes tries to squeeze their hand but his fingers feel weighted, slow and clumsy and he gives up, tries to sleep again because sleep isn’t confusing. Sleep doesn’t make his head throb or his body ache. Sleep helps him forget what he can’t remember.

 

_May 15 th, 2018_

“Blaine.”

A light pressure on his arm and eyes blink slowly open, the world blurry for a moment as he struggles to focus.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping.”

The words float through his head and he registers them but doesn’t really understand, can’t focus on trying to make out what’s around him and the noises in the room at the same time. He sees Kurt, never forgets what Kurt looks like, smiling next to him, realizes the pressure on his arm is Kurt’s hand and he tries to smile back but it’s like he knows the motions, knows what he needs to do to smile, but his muscles have forgotten. They just give a pathetic twitch and if Blaine could he would groan in frustration, but he can’t. Only the tiniest, choked off noise escapes his throat and Blaine thinks the corner of his mouth feels wet, but he can’t really figure out why and with the beeping on one side of him and Kurt’s arm on the other side, the words leaving his lips and movement across the room it’s just too much, Blaine can’t process anything through it all so he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

Something presses to the corner of his mouth, wipes gently, Kurt’s gentle voice drifting through the room like a warm breeze and even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying it wraps around him, holds him and comforts him and he just breathes, slips back into sleep.

-

When he wakes again, there’s still a hand on his. A voice speaks and he blinks sleepily, processes the words. “Hey there, sleepy.” Not Kurt. He lets his head roll to the side the voice is coming from, gazes up at someone with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, someone he doesn’t know but feels like he should. Where’s Kurt? He was here, he thought he was but… maybe… everything is hazy lately and he feels like he can’t keep anything straight and it’s so  _hard_ to just  _think_  and…

“Blaine.” A voice, one he knows and he opens his eyes (when did he close them, he doesn’t  _know_ ), sees Kurt to his other side. “Honey, is it your head? Do you want me to call the nurse?”

No, he doesn’t need the nurse, his head is only fuzzy, confused, trying desperately to sort itself out but it’s been filled with honey and molasses, sticking to the cogs and wheels and making everything go so slow. He wants to tell Kurt no, he’s fine, but he can’t, his tongue doesn’t move, the words don’t come, his lips twitch uselessly.

“Can you answer with your fingers, Blaine? Remember, like we’ve been trying?” Kurt sounds so hopeful, resting Blaine’s hand lightly on his, expectantly and it’s hard, his muscles reluctant to do what he wants but he lifts two fingers, stares into Kurt’s eyes imploringly.

“You feel okay?” Blaine twitches a single finger up, still staring intently at Kurt. Kurt smiles even though it doesn’t seem real, squeezes Blaine’s hand. “Do you remember Tara, your physical therapist?”

He nods his head toward the girl and Blaine gazes back towards her with half-lidded eyes, watches as she offers him a smile and a wave.

“Remember me?”

He doesn’t, not really but he’s not really sure he remembers anything, can’t think enough to try but he lifts his finger anyways because Kurt and this girl want this so much, want him to remember and know these things.

“Feeling up to a few exercises today?” the girl, what was her name again, asks, her voice gentle and kind, her hand reaching forward to lightly touch Blaine’s arm. He just blinks, tries to understand what she means but he’s drawing a blank. She says something to Kurt instead, the words muffled and small and Kurt says something back and their hands are on him, bending his wrists and his elbows and lifting his arms up and down. He lets them, just watches, tries to do as she says, tries to make a fist when she asks, tries to lift his legs but it’s just so  _hard_  and he’s so  _tired_  and everything has that foggy feeling like when you wake up from a too-long nap.

“I thought we’d try sitting at the edge of the bed today,” the girl is saying and Kurt’s agreeing with an enthusiasm that Blaine doesn’t really understand. He can’t decide if he feels like he’s dreaming or if everything is far too real. It’s too confusing to think about, so he just lets them, lets them put their hands on his arms, raise his bed until he’s sitting much higher than before. He feels dizzy, the world spinning around him and he closes his eyes, tries to swallow but his throat doesn’t want to work, like something is stuck, lodged and keeping him from trying so he coughs and coughs and once he starts it’s hard to stop and hands are rubbing his back and his eyes are watering and he just wants everything to  _stop_.

“Deep breaths, you’re okay, just try and breathe.”

Blaine tries, sucks fresh air into his lungs, feels them expand and it’s amazing how easily someone can forget to do such a simple action. How his head stops spinning, the world slowly evening out, righting itself in that perpetually crooked way it does.

A few moments, a few reassuring words, and then Kurt and the girl are helping him twist to the side, his feet slipping over the edge of the bed to dangle, his back hunching and when did his head get so  _heavy_  he can barely hold it up, lets it fall against Kurt’s shoulder when he sits beside him. A hand anchors behind his back when he wavers, the girl resting a smaller hand on his shoulder and Kurt presses a kiss into his hair.

“You’re sitting, Blaine,” he says and he sounds so  _proud_  and Blaine doesn’t understand why but it makes something warm twist inside of him because he always wants Kurt to be proud of him, even if he doesn’t really understand what’s happening and why his brain is suddenly fuzzy and slow and why he’s so tired and everything is so strange and difficult. He wants to tell Kurt that but he doesn’t remember how, instead moves his hand from where it’s sitting limp in his lap, glides it over to Kurt’s leg, searching searching searching and Kurt knows what he needs, his fingers tangling with Blaine’s, giving a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll try doing this for a few minutes every day, how does that sound? Build up some muscles again,” the girl says and Blaine wishes he could remember her name, is he supposed to know her? How long has she been here? He’s sitting and it’s making him tired, his shoulders hunching in on themselves, his legs dangling uselessly off the bed, his hand in Kurt’s and he just wants to sleep, just for a little bit and he wavers and…

…and he opens his eyes and he’s back in bed, Kurt’s fingers carding through his too short hair, his thumb smoothing gently over his forehead. He smiles when Blaine’s gaze falls on him and he leans forward, presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek.

“You fell asleep on us,” he says and Blaine doesn’t remember what he’s talking about but he’s pretty sure that all he does lately is sleep, so he just blinks, rolls his shoulders to get more comfortable. Kurt’s immediately there, helping Blaine to lean forward, smoothing down the pillows and sheets behind him, readjusting the blanket on top of him and Blaine sighs happily because even though he’s not really sure what’s going on, Kurt is here and he’s warm and comfortable and, right now, he feels pretty happy.

  
_May 25 th, 2018_

Kurt misses a day. It’s his third day back at work and there are projects to look over, calls to make, errands to run, people to meet, lunches and coffees and second lunches and Blaine’s dad calls with houses for them to look at and of course this is the week the sink decides to back up and then he lost his key and he gets home at ten and can’t even  _think_. He’s exhausted and it weighs in his bones and he knows he needs to go see Blaine; he hasn’t missed a day of seeing Blaine yet but the hospital is another thirty minutes on the subway and he’s just so tired and he has to get back up in eight hours for another day of catch-up and he’s starting to wonder if going back to work really was the best thing after all.

But guilt weighs in on him, and whenever he closes his eyes he sees Blaine, waiting for him, watching for him, wondering why he hasn’t been in yet. He remembers the way Blaine had clung to his hand when he had been getting ready to leave the day before, how he’d looked at him with those wide, sad eyes when he kissed him goodbye. He feels like he’s betraying him.

Kurt hesitates a moment before rolling over on the couch, fumbling for his phone from his jacket pocket that he hadn’t had the energy to hang up. He dials the numbers that have become so familiar, the charge nurse picking up, greeting Kurt brightly and transferring him to the phone in Blaine’s room. He can hear a rustle in the background, closes his eyes and tries to picture what Blaine’s doing right now, if he’s comfortable, hopes he didn’t wake him up. The nurse is talking to him, tells him it’s Kurt on the phone, and then there’s only the sound of Blaine’s breathing, the phone pressed against his cheek.

“Hey, Blaine, um, I can’t make it in today,” Kurt says, a slight catch in his voice and he swallows thickly, grips the phone tighter. “Today was just… so crazy. Who knew going back to work would be so tiring? I swear, I don’t know how they held together for so long without me, everything is just a giant  _mess_  and I’m pretty sure the new assistant they hired is colorblind because she ordered mauve instead of burgundy. Mauve, Blaine.”

He pauses, waits a second before realizing that Blaine can’t say anything back, that this is how it is now, Kurt talking to the quiet sounds of breathing.

“He’s smiling,” a whispered voice says and Kurt imagines the nurse, sitting on the bed beside Blaine, propping the phone to his ear and smiling back at him, and he feels a little better. Blaine isn’t alone.

He lets out a shaky breath, lets his own lips twitch into a smile. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come see you today, but I’ll be in as soon as I can tomorrow, okay? I bet we can even go out to the garden like we’ve been talking about, get out for a bit? Or we can do whatever you want, and I promise I won’t miss a day again, okay? And then Cooper is coming again and I know your mom wants to come out the week after he gets here so you won’t have to be alone all day, I promise. You won’t be alone and… oh! I got some new lotion that I think will work better than the stuff they have there and Carole is sending you this sweater she found online that she thinks will be warm enough that we won’t need a thousand blankets and I love you.”

A noise comes through the phone, small and stilted and Kurt frowns before he can here the phone shifting, the nurse giggling.

“I think you just made him laugh,” she says and Kurt’s heart thuds against his chest, wishes more than anything that he was there right now but somehow, it’s okay.

  
_the next day_  

Blaine doesn’t mind being alone. Mostly he doesn’t really notice, doesn’t really process the fact that he’s alone until he’s not anymore, until there’s a hand in his, quiet words in the chair beside him. He’s too tired to notice. Spends too much time sleeping, breathing, being. He stares at the wall and the sheets around him and tries to get any semblance of coherency out of his brain, usually just gives up and lets himself drift into sleep.

Today though, something is different. Today, his eyes flutter open and he feels a sense of  _loss._ He looks around at the room he’s slowly beginning to remember, the familiar walls and dark blue chairs and the IV poles set up beside him. Kurt drifts into his mind and he surrenders himself to thoughts he can manage, about Kurt’s comforting smile and chestnut hair. He knows these things. He can remember them.

But the feeling grows and he finds himself frowning, his fingers twitching just slightly from where they’re been positioned in his lap. Kurt didn’t come in yesterday. He knows this. He’s not really sure how he knows this, but he feels sure of it. And he misses him. His mom has been there, Cooper, people he doesn’t remember, but Kurt has been the constant in this hurricane of confusion, has been there and held him and made him feel safe.

Kurt wasn’t here but he remembers his voice in his ear, metallic and far away and he focuses on that, focuses on breathing deep and trying to clear the throbbing that’s started in his head.

Breathe.

Breathe.

The door opens, a soft click, and he lets his eyes open slowly (the only way they can open now), expects, hopes,  _wants_  to see Kurt walking through that door. Instead it’s a girl in blue scrubs with dark hair pulled back. She looks nice, Blaine thinks, the way she smiles at him and wishes him a good morning. Her name is Emily she says, and he knows that, now that she said it and he wants to tell her, wants to tell her that he actually remembers who she is and that he thinks she looks very pretty today, but his lips just twitch and he gives up.

He wants to ask her if she’s heard from Kurt, and he stares at her as she listens to his heart, feels his pulses and presses on his belly. He watches her, hoping that somehow she’ll understand because he feels the most awake he’s felt since he can’t even remember when, and all he wants is to tell her, to ask her a question and actually have someone understand him. But he can’t, he doesn’t know how and his body no longer seems to be  _his_  anymore. So instead he just watches and listens and waits.

Waits for Kurt, waits for blue eyes and a warm smile. Waits for comfort, and something that makes sense.

-

Someone is already in the room when Kurt gets there. Red hair and freckles and a laugh that bounces light off the walls, a voice full of encouragement. Kristina, another of Blaine’s therapists and sometimes it seems like there’s so many Kurt’s not sure how he keeps them all straight. He knocks on the door before entering, both Kristina and Blaine looking his way, Blaine’s eyes excited, his lips twitching into a smile. The head of his bed is inclined so he’s sitting up, Kristina on a chair next to him, a duffle bag of equipment next to her.

“Am I interrupting something?” Kurt asks, tries to keep his voice light despite the guilt still churning in him at not making it in yesterday.

“Just Blaine’s new talent,” Kristina says, beckoning for Kurt to come forward.

“Oh yes?” Kurt steps into the room, leans down to press a kiss to Blaine’s forehead, whispers, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday.”

Blaine’s fingers uncurl, reach towards Kurt and he takes them, biting his lip when Blaine gives his fingers a tiny squeeze, almost like he’s trying to reassure Kurt. It’s the first time Blaine has done anything like this on his own initiative; the first time he’s purposefully made contact and Kurt squeezes back, as much as he can.

“Do you want to show Kurt what you can do?” Kristina asks softly, passes Blaine a red foam ball he hadn’t noticed her holding before. She stands, motions for Kurt to sit where she was, so he does, looking between them, confused. Blaine’s fingers press into the foam ball, forming small indents and he focuses on Kurt, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling as he concentrates. A grunt, so quiet Kurt barely hears it, and Blaine tosses the ball, just clearing the bed and hitting Kurt’s knees. It’s more reflexes than anything that make Kurt catch it before it hits the ground, and he stares at Blaine, heart fluttering in his chest.

“Toss it back,” Kristina says, standing behind Kurt and he grips the ball, tosses it gently towards Blaine. Blaine fumbles a little but manages to grab a hold of it, can’t really lift it off the bed but he holds it close to his body, a proud look on his face. It’s the most like  _Blaine_  he’s looked in a month and Kurt feels something hot pricking at his eyes, and he lifts a shaky hand, touches the ball. Blaine smiles, the right side of his mouth lifting higher than the left, and he tosses the ball back to Kurt.

“You…” Kurt says, voice faltering and he lifts the ball up until it touches his chin, a smile breaking out on his face that he’s sure makes him look like a crazy person.

“I think we can be done for the day,” Kristina says, voice light and she gathers up her stuff. “You did great today, Blaine.” She touches his arm lightly, smiles and looks back at Kurt. “You can keep that.” And with a tiny wink, she’s gone, closing the door with a click behind her.

A beat and Kurt considers, tosses the ball back to Blaine. He catches it, his movements still slow, sluggish, but this time he barely fumbles it. Kurt’s throat feels tight and he knows it’s silly but this, this little red ball, is the first time in a month that Blaine’s actually shown any sort of real improvement, the most awake and alert and Blaine-like that he’s been and it makes something  _ache_  inside of him.

“Scoot over,” he says, helps Blaine move slightly to the side, is cautious of the IV and feeding tube, climbs into the too small bed beside him. He knows he’s not really supposed to do this, but right now he doesn’t care, he just needs to be close to Blaine, however he can.

“I love you a stupid amount, you know that, right?” Kurt whispers when he’s settled, pressing a kiss to his jaw and resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder. If he closes his eyes he can pretend, can focus on just the sensation of Blaine beside him, tucked so perfectly into his side, can just listen to the gentle sounds of his breathing, can feel the warmth of his skin against his cheek. He can tune out the bustling sounds of the hospital around them, the whirring sounds of the drips and IVs beside the bed and just focus on

_now_.

On his beautiful fiancé who threw a cheap foam ball to him today but it made Kurt more proud than he’s ever been. Because it’s not the action, but what the action  _means._ That maybe, someday, Blaine might be a little bit closer to okay. That he will never fail to surprise Kurt, and Kurt will never forget to show him how much he loves him.

His thoughts are broken when something hits his chest and he blinks his eyes open, looks up at Blaine. There’s a smile on his face and the ball has rolled off the bed and Kurt realizes he just threw it at him, like he was trying to get his attention.

Kurt picks up the ball, and tosses it.

  
_June 1 st, 2018_

Blaine is angry. For the first time he can remember since his brain became a stew of confusion, since the first time he woke up and the world no longer made any sense, he is actually, heart-poundingly angry. He doesn’t really know why, there’s no pinpointed reason for it. The morning was uneventful, just the routine he’s becoming familiar with.

Nurses came by, doctors, and people who had him try things that were too hard for him, things that he always failed at. He couldn’t put the puzzle pieces back in their places, couldn’t catch the ball today no matter how hard he tried. His legs felt like lead and refused to move in the way he wanted. It felt like there was something was weighing down his lungs and he couldn’t stop coughing, a cough that made his nurse run into his room, made her stick things down his throat that just seemed to make the coughing worse but he couldn’t even tell her to stop.

So he sits in his room alone, listens to the blood pounding in his ears, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the blanket Kurt had brought from home. He feels like he’s been living in this never-ending haze, and he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t understand  _why_ , can’t even think enough to begin to figure it out, and no one has bothered to explain anything to him. Or if they have, he can’t remember, and that just makes him even angrier.

But anger is hard to keep up. Anger takes energy and action and Blaine doesn’t seem to have either. So he lets it simmer, bubble just under the surface, and drifts. He mostly ignores the people who come in and out of the room because it’s easier this way. It’s easier to just not think, to surrender himself to the haze of his mind, and just be.

Until his door opens and there’s noise. Cooper comes in first, smiles wide when he sees Blaine. Kurt follows next and they’re talking, too fast for Blaine to concentrate on the words so he doesn’t, stares at them as they approach his bed.

“Hey little brother,” Cooper is saying, ruffles his hair in the way he used to do when they were kids, even though Blaine doesn’t really have hair to ruffle. “Happy birthday.”

Blaine blinks.

Kurt lowers himself in the chair next to him; his movements slow and practiced as he takes his hand.

“Blaine, it’s your birthday today.” Kurt smiles and glances up at Cooper. “Cooper flew in today to visit for a few days.”

Blaine lets his eyes roam from Kurt to Cooper, down to his bed. He tries to think over their words.  _Happy Birthday._  It means something; he knows it does. The meaning filters in and he knows he should feel something, that this should matter, but it doesn’t. His emotions are backwards and sideways and muddled and all he feels is the simmering anger he felt earlier rising.

“Blaine bear, you’re twenty-five. Practically an old man,” Cooper says when the silence stretches and there’s a forced laugh in his voice, but it just makes Blaine angrier. Because how can they be here, telling him he’s older when he can’t even remember how old he is anyways? When he doesn’t even know why he’s here? When all they do is sit and hold his hand and encourage him and he’s trapped inside his own head but he doesn’t even understand his own thoughts anymore. When _nothing_  makes sense.

So Blaine does the only thing he’s able to do, he pulls away. He slips his hand out of Kurt’s, avoids Cooper’s eyes, stares at his knees. Kurt tries to find his hand again but he twitches away.

“Blaine…” Kurt says but it’s little more than a whisper. He’s gentle, always so gentle, so cautious and patient and usually it helps things make more sense, helps Blaine feel more grounded but now… he feels slow and stupid and so  _angry._ “It’s okay Blaine, it’s just me and Cooper.”

Understanding. Always understanding.

“Just breathe.”

So he tries. Looks at Kurt with wide eyes and sucks a desperate breath in, lets it out in that way his doctor has been teaching him. Kurt reaches for his hand once more, squeezes encouragingly and Blaine really  _tries_.

“I brought you something,” Kurt says after a moment, glancing up at Cooper before continuing. He pulls something out of his back with one hand, never letting go of Blaine’s. Everything feels still for a beat, and Kurt raises a small birthday candle, pinched between two fingers.

“They won’t let me light it in here, not with the oxygen. And I couldn’t… a candle is all I could do. But, we can pretend, can’t we? You can still make a wish, and when you get out of here we can make up for it, okay?” Kurt’s speaking quickly, sounds desperate in a way, inches the candle closer to Blaine’s lips. Blaine closes his eyes and does. He thinks about what Kurt just said, lets it seep its way into his brain. A wish. He’s supposed to make a wish. He knows what wishes are, somehow knows he needs to make one and blow out the candle, because it’s his birthday and he’s twenty-five. So he wishes that he understood, wishes for this fog in his head to clear, wishes for things to finally make sense again, wishes that he actually knew what was happening.

Eyes open again and Kurt’s smiling at him expectantly. Blaine focuses in on the candle, shifts his shoulders before pursing his lips to blow out the pretend flame. Except he can’t. His lips won’t move that way, won’t do anything except drop his chin a little and twitch uselessly. Breath escapes him in a gasp anyways and he feels something slip down his chin, knows it’s saliva and he closes again, looks away because he can’t do anything about it.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kurt rushes to reassure but Blaine doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to listen anymore. He can feel his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and for the first time he  _wants_  to go back to before, when everything was one big blur and he didn’t know any of these things were happening. Because now he knows, now he’s aware of Kurt’s hand on his chin, gently wiping away his shame, his touch as gentle as his words. It doesn’t help.

Cooper is silent beside him and Blaine can’t even raise his eyes, just wants to fall back asleep, wants him to leave. It’s easier when it’s just Kurt. “I have a present for you,” Kurt says, tries to bring him back. He detaches his hand from Blaine’s, digs into his bag and pulls out a box. He lays it carefully in Blaine’s lap, opens the lid, digs through tissue paper and pulls out a glass flower.

“It’s, um, it’s a tulip.” Kurt reaches forward, places the flower in Blaine’s hand. The glass is cool on his fingers. Smooth. “I don’t know if you remember but last year you…” A pause, a shaky breath, “You said you wished that flowers could last forever and I found one that will. I hope you like it.”

Blaine doesn’t remember saying that, doesn’t remember anything that Kurt was talking about, but he lets his thumb smooth over the stem, over the bump of the leaf, up to the petal. It’s beautiful, a dark green bleeding into the misty white of the petal. It calms him, stroking the cold glass, feeling it warm up slightly between his fingers. He can close his eyes and pretend for a moment, like with the candle, that maybe they’re in a different place. Maybe he’s somewhere with Kurt and Cooper, in a place he knows and understands. Maybe they’re having fun, laughing and talking and he actually knows how to do these things. Maybe everything is different. Better.

He opens his eyes, sees Kurt watching him, Cooper concerned, and he smiles, as best as he can. He smiles because he wants Kurt to know in the only way he can tell him: He’s helping him. That the anger and frustration he felt before isn’t gone, but it’s ebbed away like the tide, that he feels safe and calm and together with Kurt. He wants Cooper to know that he’s glad he’s here, that he’s happy that Cooper is concerned, that Cooper cares enough to come out for his birthday.

Kurt takes his hand again, wraps it gently over so they’re both cupping the flower, leans to press a kiss to his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Blaine. I love you so much.”

_I love you too_ , Blaine thinks, the only coherent thought he really can form, the only words he can hold on to. Cooper takes his other hand and Blaine squeezes, and he feels good, as good as he can.

Because he knows, he’ll never really be alone


	23. Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, isn’t that why he’s doing this? Sitting at home, going to group, venturing to the grocery store with Kurt, all the things he does at that make him want more, that give him the desire, the need, to do something, to be out on his own, to prove to the world that he can. To prove to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thanks to Sandy for being an amazing beta and always helping me to improve my writing. I apologize for how long this has taken me, but school and graduation and life got in the way for a while. You shouldn't have to wait that long again, I promise. This is a two-part chapter as well, it just got to be too monstrous, so look for the next part in a week or so. You guys rock.

_June 12th, 2020_

_Friday_

Today Blaine gets up before Kurt. He presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead before sliding out of bed, smiling at the way Kurt hums and snuggles deeper into his pillow, lips parting just slightly. Blaine loves the way Kurt looks just before he wakes up, how relaxed his face is, the bed messed hair that falls across his forehead, the way his lips move like he’s talking to someone in his sleep. He looks peaceful, happy. 

Blaine reaches for his cane, not quite stable enough in the early morning to do without it. The door squeaks when he opens it and Blaine curses himself, as he does every morning, for not remembering to oil it, but Kurt doesn’t move, keeps sleeping. Belle jumps up from her bed by the couch, eagerly trots over to him and nudges her head against his legs. He takes a minute to scratch behind her ears before letting her out into the back yard.

He’ll make coffee before his shower, Blaine decides, so that it’s fresh whenever Kurt wakes up. Making coffee isn’t as hard as it used to be, and he never looks once at the directions Kurt taped to the fridge. When the coffee pot starts to sputter to life, Blaine lets Belle back in, makes his way to the bathroom. He sings in the shower, the song happy and upbeat, despite his apprehension for the events of today. The shower chair is only needed at the end, the hot water making his muscles loose and shaky but Blaine doesn’t mind. Not anymore. He knows he needs these things, the bars on the wall, the chair and the extra support. He needs them, but he also knows that he’s strong, that he can do so much without them and that’s what he’s been focusing on. On the improvements, not the setbacks. On doing things that he couldn’t even begin to do without Kurt’s help, before. 

Kurt’s still sleeping when Blaine finishes, has cocooned himself in the comforter now that Blaine’s not there to fight back for it. Blaine stays as quiet as he can, wanting Kurt to get his much needed sleep. He’s been stressing about today, Blaine knows, worrying so much he tosses and turns for hours before he finally drifts off. Blaine’s been worried too, but for different reasons than Kurt, and he wants today to go perfectly. Including Kurt getting enough sleep. 

Blaine considers the closet, pulls out a pair of dark jeans, a gray striped button up t-shirt, and a dark red cardigan. There are a lot of buttons but he’s determined, wants to look his best today. He shimmies into the jeans, sits on the padded bench Kurt’s arranged near the closet for this very reason. Button up shirts are easier to put on, there’s no wrestling it over his head, but the tiny buttons prove frustrating, his fingers still lacking the fine motor skills to do them up easily. But Blaine bites his lip and powers through, concentrates on each button at a time, only fumbles once, smiles when he pops the last one through. He slides the cardigan on and doesn’t bother to button it, he’ll probably need to take it off later and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself fumbling with the buttons in public. 

The outfit isn’t complete without a tie, Blaine decides, and he wants to look his absolute best. He debates between his selection before deciding on the deep navy tie with a vertical red stripe Kurt got him for his birthday a few years ago. He grabs it with slightly trembling fingers, moves to stand in front of the full length mirror, wraps it around his neck. Steeling his jaw, Blaine attempts the pattern he used to know so well, folding over and then under and then looping around and through and… no, the knot falls without resistance. Blaine inhales and tries again. Over, under, through, loop; every time the tie isn’t right, the knot lopsided or backwards or not even a knot at all. He bites back a groan of frustration, staring at himself in the mirror. His hair needs to be gelled down just a tad, the frizz a little too overwhelming today, despite the haircut Kurt had just given him. But he looks good, Blaine thinks, decent at least. At first glance you might not be able to tell that he’s… different, might not see the stiffness of his right arm, the way his right knee doesn’t bend quite as well. Might miss the way the left side of his smile doesn’t reach the right, the way he sometimes still slurs over words.

Except for this stupid tie and Blaine’s about ready to give up, who needs a tie anyways? But then gentle hands are on his, stilling his frantic movements, and he turns his head, Kurt pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, and he didn’t even hear him get up. 

“Let me,” Kurt says and Blaine drops his arms to his sides, lets Kurt do up the tie with nimble fingers. Blaine murmurs a quiet _thank you_ , watches Kurt’s face as his brow furrows in concentration, the way his hair is sticking up on one side from sleep, and Blaine marvels in the fact that he gets to see Kurt like this, he’s the only one who sees Kurt ruffled and tired from sleep but still looking as perfect as he always does. 

“You look very suave,” Kurt says once he’s tucked the tie inside Blaine’s cardigan, smoothes his hands flat across Blaine’s chest. 

“I want to make a good im… um, impression,” Blaine responds, tries to smile at Kurt but it’s hard when his heart is pounding in his chest, nervous and excited all at once. 

“You don’t have to make an impression on Cooper.” Kurt tilts his head to the side, like he’s examining Blaine. Blaine just shrugs, tries to appear nonchalant. “I know.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says with a smile, leans in to press a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. He glances at the clock. “We have a few hours before we have to leave for the airport, I’m going to hop in the shower, alright?” 

“Okay,” Blaine says, and he doesn’t really want Kurt to go, but he’s the one leaving. 

-

Kurt showers and Blaine goes through his suitcase. He’s sure he’s forgetting something, and he triple checks the list he made with Kurt: toothbrush (check), pajamas (check), underwear (check), medication (check), swimsuit (check), shaving cream (check), shampoo (check), emergency numbers (check). He has everything, he’s sure of it, but he can’t stop the niggling feeling that there’s still something missing.  

But he supposes that Cooper can get him whatever he’s forgotten, and Kurt is very thorough, so he’s sure he’s just being paranoid. He distracts himself by making eggs for Kurt, determined to do at least one useful thing before he leaves. He scrambles them, adds salt and pepper in the way that Kurt likes, dishes them on a plate just in time for Kurt to make his way into the kitchen, hair wrapped in a towel, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. 

“Eggs!” Kurt exclaims, a little too enthusiastically and Blaine knows this is hard for him. It’s the first time they’re going to be apart for more than a night since Blaine came home from the hospital, almost three years ago. Blaine doesn’t know what to say, his throat has gone dry, so they sit and they eat and Kurt wraps his foot around Blaine’s calf and maybe it will all be okay. 

-

Until they’re at the airport. Blaine can tell Kurt is blinking back tears, his lip caught between his teeth to still it’s quivering. They’ve checked Blaine’s bag, his tickets clutched in his hand and security is looming in front of them, a clicking, blinking symbol of goodbyes. 

“I don’t want you to go.” The words are whispered, and Kurt’s looking down at their feet. Blaine swallows, clears his throat, swallows again. 

“It’s only ten days,” he says, reaches to tangle his fingers with Kurt’s. 

“I know, just, I’ll miss you so much.” His voice cracks in the middle, eyes shining with too many tears. 

“I’ll text you and… call you every, um, day. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” 

Kurt gives a shaky laugh, wipes away the few tears that escape. 

“Every day?” 

“Ten times a day,” Blaine assures, steps forward to press a kiss to Kurt’s lips. “You’ll get sick of me.” 

“Not possible,” Kurt returns, wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck and pulls him in close. He sucks in a deep breath, like he wants to memorize this moment, the way Blaine smells and feels and the heat coming off their bodies. Blaine closes his eyes, lets his chin rest on Kurt’s shoulder. “Go show L.A. what it’s been missing,” Kurt whispers, presses another lingering kiss to Blaine’s lips. 

“I love you,” Blaine says, clutches tight to Kurt for one more second and then Kurt is turning him around, nudging him towards security. 

“I love you too.” 

And Blaine leans on his cane, knows if he doesn’t leave now Kurt might never let him go. He looks back once he’s through security, can just see Kurt at the entrance, his cheeks red from tears but a smile on his face. He waves, blows a kiss, and Blaine returns it, turns around and fumbles for his phone. 

 **To Cooper [12:46p]** _Through security. Can’t wait to see you!!!_

Blaine pockets the phone, a smile pulling at his lips and for the first time he’s not nervous. He’s ready. 

-

Kurt’s knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel, makes the drive back home from the airport, and tries valiantly not to cry. 

He doesn’t succeed.

-

Blaine makes it to his gate with an hour to spare. The airport is busy, people in business suits bustling between the terminals, families dragging tired looking children down the halls, couples taking up too many seats in the terminal. The only open chair is marked with a handicap sign and he’s not about to sit there, not with his cane clutched in his hand, already bringing too much attention to himself. So he wanders around the terminal, browses through a bookstore, buys a small paperback that looks decently interesting, makes a pitstop at the Cinnabon next door and orders the biggest, gooey-est cinnamon roll he sees. 

He sends a picture message to Kurt (because while Kurt will grumble about saturated fats and fitting into his slimmest jeans, Blaine know that he has a weakness for anything covered in sweet, sugary glaze) before starting to make his way back to his gate. Once there, he leans against the wall, tucks his cane under his arm, and digs into his cinnamon roll, closes his eyes and almost groans for how good it tastes, decides in a moment of ecstasy that if there’s a reason he’s thankful to still be alive, it’s because of delicious baked goods. 

“Blaine?” A voice has him fluttering his eyes back open, glancing around in confusion. “Oh my gosh, Blaine!” 

And then he spots the owner of the voice, a tall, dark haired figure moving closer to him from across the hall.

“Mike?” Blaine says, surprised. He quickly closes the Cinnabon box, moves slightly away from the wall. 

“Wow, hi,” Mike exclaims when he’s reached Blaine, eyes quickly taking him in and Blaine suddenly feels self conscious, all too aware of the cane gripped tightly in one hand, the stiffness in his arm, the uneven set of his mouth. 

“This is a, um, a surprise,” Blaine says, shifts his feet. 

“No kidding,” Mike agrees, still smiling in a way Blaine wishes he could return. “Where are you headed to?” 

Blaine blinks a moment, feeling slightly off in the conversation, still trying to deal with the surprise of seeing Mike here, in a place where he had expected nothing but complete anonymity. “Um, I’m going to LA. To visit my brother,” Blaine explains, isn’t quite sure where he should be looking, is starting to feel a little uncomfortable under Mike’s careful gaze. “What about you?”

“Oh, I just got off my flight from Chicago, that’s where Tina and I are living now, I don’t know if Kurt told you. I’m just here on some business for a few days.” 

“Oh,” Blaine says, nods at Mike’s words, doesn’t know what to say. He can feel his heart starting to race, his nerves heightened and he just doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to interact with anyone anymore, not without Kurt there to draw attention away from him, to give him a break when he can see him faltering. 

“Is that Jodi Picoult?” Mike asks, a note of amusement in his voice, points to the paperback tucked under Blaine’s arm. Blaine pulls it out, glances at the cover.

“Uh… yes?” The name does sound familiar, Blaine thinks, can’t place where he’s heard it before.

“Tina’s in love with her books, but I always found them a little contrived,” Mike remarks, pauses. “Are you reading it?”

Blaine glances down at the book, back up at Mike. 

“Well I’m not coloring in it.” 

Mike’s cheeks turn red, and Blaine knows he must feel embarrassed, knows how unsure Mike must be about talking him, knows how awkward this situation is for both of them. 

“How’s Tina?” Blaine tries, wants more than anything for this conversation to be successful, doesn’t want Mike to regret stopping to say hi in the first place.

“She’s pregnant again,” Mike beams, like he’s been holding this information in for too long, his grin so wide Blaine’s not sure it won’t take up whole face. “I found out on Monday.” 

“That’s great, Mike,” Blaine says, tries to make it sound sincere while scrambling to remember ever learning they had a first baby. And he wonders how many of his friends’ lives he’s missed out on and forgotten, how many milestones and landmarks his friends have reached and he doesn’t even _know_. “I’m so happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” Mike says, still beaming. “Next time we’re all in New York we’ll have meet up. Rosalyn hasn’t been to the big city yet, but Tina keeps hinting about it.” Mike pauses and Blaine doesn’t know what to say, tries to remember how he made such effortless conversation _before_ , how he used to talk to everyone without hesitation, used to _thrive_ on social interaction, on meeting new people, catching up with old friends, talking to prospective students. He’s not that Blaine anymore, he knows that, but he still feels the loss inside him, an empty, faltering space where his confidence used to be. 

“So where’s Kurt?” Mike asks after a silent moment, glancing around. Blaine clears his throat, takes a breath.

“He’s at home,” Blaine answers, words clear and calculated. “I’m going by myself.” He bites his lip, hates how pathetic he just made himself sound, like he’s a kid navigating the real world on his own for the first time. 

“That’s great, Blaine,” Mike says, and his smile is genuine. His eyes flicker over Blaine, down to his cane and back. “You look really good, I was in New York when you were, uh, still in the hospital,” this time Mike falters, his smile a little more strained, eyes sad and Blaine wishes he could just sink into the floor and disappear. “You look good,” he repeats, reaches forward to squeeze the top of Blaine’s arm. “I’m so glad to see you’re doing okay.” 

Okay is subjective, Blaine thinks but feels bad because Mike is being genuine, he really _is_ glad to see Blaine, is glad to see him doing well, and while Blaine doesn’t really remember it, he knows seeing him in the hospital would have been a shock, something most people don’t like to remember, a memory they don’t want their friends associated with. 

“Thank you,” Blaine says, tries to sound earnest because he really does appreciate Mike’s genuine happiness at seeing him, he can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that it’s something that he needs, that everyone who knew him _before_ will now have something to compare him to, to see his flaws now and tell him how much he’s _improved,_ how _good_ he looks now.Like he should be proud of the fact that he still can’t walk without some sort of support, that he still needs help getting dressed in the morning, that he can’t remember the fact that his friends are now having children. That everyone else’s lives seemed to have progressed so much and his is marked by childish victories. Stagnant. 

A metallic voice overhead informs them it’s time for Blaine’s plane to start boarding and Blaine shuffles, makes a gesture towards the gate, feels awkward and out of place. 

“Have a good trip, Blaine,” Mike says, leans forward to give Blaine a quick, tight hug and Blaine lets his eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment, feels confused by the sudden onslaught of emotions. 

“Thanks,” Blaine murmurs, pulls away, takes a step back before pausing. “Good luck, Mike, with, um, with the baby.” 

Mikes smiles and nods, tells him “we’ll send you pictures,” and he’s walking away, sending a small wave back in Blaine’s direction. Blaine can’t really wave back, not with a cane in one hand and a Cinnabon box in another so he wiggles a finger and smiles, watches his old friend retreating, moving out of sight. 

He turns toward the gate where people have started lining up, anxious hurry onto the plane where they’ll just have to wait again, throws his cinnamon roll in the garbage, and steps into line. 

-

On the plane, his seat is small and uncomfortable, and he’s desperately thankful it’s an aisle seat (he had flat out refused for Kurt to book him the handicap accessible seat even though he knew it would make things so much easier, he can’t _stand_ the eyes of people staring at him, questioning why someone so young would need the seat normally reserved for the elderly, examining him and trying to spot the thing that makes him different, unlike everyone else), he pulls out his phone, fingers hovering over his string of texts with Kurt. He thinks about telling him about Mike, about telling him this was a mistake, he’s not ready to face the world on his own. Not yet. But.

But, isn’t that why he’s doing this? Sitting at home, going to group, venturing to the grocery store with Kurt, all the things he does at that make him want _more_ , that give him the desire, the need, to do something, to be out on his own, to prove to the world that he _can_. To prove to himself. 

He locks his phone, shoves it back in his pocket, and settles in. 

-

Kurt is not moping. Kurt does not mope. He takes hardships with grace and tact, a life of unending upheavals and difficulties teaching him that moping serves no purpose except to make him feel worse about the situation than he did to begin with and he is in no way…

Kurt threw his ice cream covered spoon on the coffee table and sighed. He was moping. It had barely been four hours since he’d dropped Blaine off at the airport and he was already spiraling into a desolate cave of loneliness and despair and… and how did he expect to survive ten days like this?  He wanted to text Blaine, to make sure he was doing okay (which he was, if the picture message of the largest cinnamon roll he’d ever seen was anything to go by), but Blaine would still be in the air, his six hour flight barely half over. 

Belle nudged her head against Kurt’s leg, laid her chin on his knee and looked up at him with those wide, understanding eyes that only a dog has. 

“Do you miss him already too?” Kurt asks Belle, reaches to scratch behind her floppy ears. “I know this is what he wanted to do, what _I_ wanted him to do but…” 

His throat feels tight, and he practices the deep breathing exercises the counselor he’s been seeing (at Blaine’s insistence) taught him to deal with the underlying panic he can’t seem to get rid of. 

“I don’t like him being gone,” Kurt manages, his voice wobbly and he feels pathetic but he can’t help it, lets Belle jump up on the couch next to him, hugs her close and cries. 

-

Cooper is waiting for Blaine at the gate, his smile wide, his arms waving to get his attention and Blaine falls gratefully against his brother, melts into his side. Six hours is too long to sit on a plane with the air pressure constantly fluctuating and ears that won’t pop no matter how much gum he chews and he can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes, can only bring himself to nod when Cooper asks if he wants to go home and sleep for awhile. 

He aches from missing Kurt, from the never ending flight, but Cooper slings Blaine’s backpack onto his own back, protests when Blaine tries to carry his own duffle bag. He tucks a pair of sunglasses over Blaine’s eyes when he squints in the bright California sun, shuts off the radio when Blaine slides in the the passenger seat of Cooper’s car and even though Kurt and his the rest of his life are 3000 miles away, the warmth and caring of his brother will always be a little bit like home. 

-

When the tears have stopped and Kurt’s face feels puffy, he takes Belle out into the backyard, collapses on the porch swing and digs out his phone. He stares at it a moment, worries his lip as he contemplates, before scrolling through his contacts and selecting a number. 

“Hi, Kurt!” Rachel answers after a few rings, her voice far too happy for a day like today. “What’s going on? Didn’t Blaine leave today?”

-of all the things she could have said. 

“Yeah,” Kurt manages, voice wavering and tight. A sympathetic noise comes through the lines. 

“Oh honey,” Rachel says. “Are you okay?” 

Kurt sniffs, bites his lip and refuses to cry on the phone, he’s better than this, he’s not going to be reduced to a wibbling mess just because Blaine has been gone for six measly hours. 

“I’m just.” He pauses, has to suck in a breath and try and get his voice under control. “I’m just overreacting, it’s silly I know, I just. I just.” He doesn’t know how to finish the sentences. He just feels like he’s going crazy, like Blaine walking away from him and boarding that plane was like having a limb ripped off, like he has no idea how he’s going to make it through ten days of this if he can barely make it through a few hours. 

“It’s okay to miss him,” Rachel says with an infuriating understanding. 

“I do,” Kurt admits, watches Belle chase after a poor unsuspecting squirrel across the yard. “It’s not just that, its… what if something happens and I’m not there?” 

A hum. “Cooper will look out for Blaine, you know that.” 

“But he might not know-“

“Kurt,” Rachel cuts him off, voice firm. “You have to start trusting Blaine to be on his own, and you know that Cooper won’t let anything happen to Blaine. He’ll have a great vacation and before you know it he’ll be back. Okay?” 

Kurt nods, responds meekly, unable to work up the energy to argue. 

“Now. I’m going to make some calls and you’re going to come over to my house and we’re going to treat ourselves, got it?” 

“Yeah.” Kurt can only agree, pushes against the ground so the porch swing rocks back and forth slightly, the chain above squeaking. 

“Good. See you soon.” 

-

The drive through LA is quiet; Blaine falls asleep barely ten minutes after they leave the airport, his head using the seatbelt as an uncomfortable pillow, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Cooper fiddles with the air conditioning the whole drive back, wants to make sure Blaine is comfortable, that he can get as much rest as he can, texts Lauren when they’re stopped at a light to have Blaine’s bed ready for him, they’ll wait for dinner later. 

It takes almost an hour to get to Burbank, an accident had traffic going at a pace a snail would scoff at, and Cooper hums to himself, steals occasional glances over at Blaine. He looks tired, his forehead scrunching slightly between his eyebrows and Cooper had been worried about the flight, knows he’ll have to sort through Blaine’s medications when they get home, figure out which ones he needs for a headache. 

They pull into the driveway of Cooper’s modest home and Blaine stirs, his eyes cracking open as the engine goes silent. 

“Wha-” 

“We’re here, squirt,” Cooper says, voice soft, watches as Blaine fumbles with the seatbelt, itches to reach over and help him, but remembers all the phone calls of Blaine complaining about Kurt doing that exact thing. He knows about Blaine’s most recent setback, told by a nervous Kurt who had warned him that Blaine didn’t want him to know, but if Blaine was going to be spending an extended time with him, he needed to. And Cooper was surprised to find he didn’t feel hurt with the knowledge that Blaine had kept this from him, he knows Blaine, knows how he hates to seem weak in front of others, how embarrassed he is by how much help he has needed, knows how he needs to prove to everyone how strong he is. Cooper already knows, doesn’t think he knows anyone as strong as his little brother, and nothing, no matter how many setbacks Blaine might have, could make him think any differently. 

They make their way up to Cooper’s house, Blaine squinting against the brightness of the sun, his right side leaning heavily on his cane and Cooper itches to help support him, wraps his fingers tight around Blaine’s duffle bag instead. Lauren’s waiting just inside the front door, her dark hair up in a messy bun, her hands wringing in front of her nervously, a tentative smile on her face. 

“Hi Blaine, it’s so great see you again,” she greets, steps forward and wraps her arms around him, envelopes Blaine, his head falling to her shoulders as he mumbles something in return. It’s been nearly two years since she last saw Blaine, when he was still in the hospital and Cooper knows it’s such a shock to see, he still can’t believe it when he looks at his brother, the stark memory of before always pushing it’s way forward, an unpleasant dream that refuses to go away.

And Blaine just melts into her, a soft groan in his throat and she gives Cooper a knowing look, strokes a hand down Blaine’s back and she always did have such a soft spot for him. 

“I’ve made the guest room up for you,” she says when they pull back slightly and Blaine is starting to look dazed, his eyes unfocused, taking in the room around him without really seeing anything and Cooper feels a jolt of worry in his stomach. “How does a nap sound?” 

Blaine nods, slowly, distantly. She anchors his shoulders, leads him down the hallway and for the first time Cooper’s so grateful their house is only one level, can’t imagine Blaine trying to wrestle stairs right now. The guest room isn’t big, but the bed is comfortable (Cooper knows first hand from the occasional spousal disagreements that he has yet to win), and the closet is big enough to fit Blaine’s stuff for ten days. Lauren has Blaine sit on the edge of the bed, instructs Cooper to close the blinds and find Blaine’s pills and a pair of sweatpants. 

“How are you feeling, Birdy?” Lauren asks when Cooper’s digging through Blaine’s bag, using the nickname she’d always loved to tease him with, though Blaine never really seemed to mind. 

“Headache,” Blaine mumbles, and Lauren makes a sympathetic noise, starts to gently undo the buttons of Blaine’s shirt. Blaine doesn’t protest, just watches her with sad eyes. When he’s just in his undershirt he stands suddenly, nearly falls over, Lauren making a surprised noise as she catches him, lowers him back onto the bed. 

“Where you going in such a hurry?” she asks, tries to keep her voice light and Cooper’s glad one of them has this situation under control, never realized how much he’d relied on Kurt when he would visit, how Kurt would automatically know what to do, how to tell what Blaine needed, knew how to keep him safe.

“You don’t…” Blaine winced, one hand moving up to his head. “I can… my pants.” 

Lauren nods, her touch on Blaine’s shoulder gentle, her thumb rubbing a calming circle.

“I know you can,” she says and Cooper can see Blaine relaxing under her hands, knows after years of practicing massage therapy, this just comes naturally to her. This urge, this desire to soothe, to make people relaxed and loose, to ease their pain. “But can I help you out, just this time?” 

Blaine gives a short nod, reaches out and holds onto Lauren tightly as she helps him stand, quickly helps him out of his jeans and into the soft sweatpants Cooper had found in his duffle. 

“Do you want your pills?” Cooper asks, feeling useless and Lauren guides Blaine back into the bed, situates him under the covers. Blaine shakes his head slowly, looks at Cooper with bleary eyes. 

“Sleep it off,” he murmurs and his head falls back onto the pillow like all the energy has been sucked out of him, a rag doll in the shape of his brother. Lauren leans in to kiss his forehead, squeezes his shoulder before turning to leave, giving Cooper a look before she does. 

Cooper breathes in. Out. 

“Okay.” He puts the pills beside Blaine’s bed along with the bottle of water he’d found in Blaine’s backpack. 

“-m sorry.” Barely audible mumbles under the pile of blankets draped over him. 

“Sorry for what?” Cooper asks, rests a tentative hand on Blaine’s shoulder, feels Blaine shifting under him. 

“Ruined the day.” The pile of blankets moves, Blaine’s eyes blinking tiredly up at him. 

“You didn’t ruin anything, squirt,” Cooper tries to reassure, tries to sound sincere and how does Kurt do this, it’s barely been an hour and he feels lost, feels exhausted with it. “I’m going to take a nap too.” He fakes a yawn, loud and obnoxious and Blaine snorts a little. 

“Liar.” 

“Me? Never,” Cooper smiles, squeeze Blaine’s shoulder lightly. “Get some sleep Blainey bear, I want your batteries recharged.” 

“-don’t call me that.” Blaine swats at Cooper’s hand, and Cooper chuckles. 

“Love you, little bro,” he says, pauses and gets up to leave, hears Blaine’s faint “love you too” just as he clicks the door shut behind him. 

-

Kurt’s on his second glass of wine, a lump on Rachel’s couch, staring at his phone and wondering why Blaine hasn’t called yet when his phone lights up with a call, Cooper’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Cooper?” he answers, glances at Rachel on the couch next to him. 

“Hey, Kurt.” Cooper’s voice different over the phone, deeper, a note of tiredness to the sound. 

“How’s Blaine?” Kurt asks, doesn’t care that he’s skipping over all the formalities of a normal conversation, he’s been living in agonizing anxiety to know if Blaine made it, if he’s okay, how his flight went. 

“He’s, um,” Cooper pauses and Kurt feels his stomach bottom out, dread and panic and encompassing worry filling him. “The flight took a lot out of him, I think.” 

“Is he okay?” Kurt asks, _demands_ , can’t bear the thought of Blaine being hurt and he can’t even bet here to help him. He trusts Cooper, knows how well-meaning Cooper is, but he just doesn’t understand, he hasn’t been there, hasn’t lived it, doesn’t know what to do. 

“He’ll be fine Kurt, don’t worry. He’s just resting now. I think the air pressure changes gave him a headache.” Despite the confidence in Cooper’s voice, he can hear a wavering note of worry. 

“Did he take anything, I’m sure I packed all his meds, I could get the doctor to fax a prescription to a pharmacy near…” 

“Kurt,” Cooper cuts Kurt off and Kurt huffs, Rachel reaching forward to lay a comforting hand on his knee. “Blaine is okay. I left his meds beside his bed if he wants them. He’s just got a headache, it’s not something I didn’t expect after such a long flight. Lauren and I are taking care of him, you don’t need to worry.” 

Kurt closes his eyes, breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focuses on the feel of Rachel’s hand, the phone clutched tight in his hand. He wants Blaine so bad it _aches_ , like he’s lost something he needs to survive, a vital organ scooped out from inside. 

“Okay,” he manages after a moment. “Well… will you have him call me when he gets up? Please?”

“Of course,” Cooper assures and Kurt feels deflated, empty. They say goodbyes and hang up, Kurt staring at the phone in his hand, feels traitorous tears prick at his eyes. 

“Oh honey,” Rachel says, pulls Kurt in close and he doesn’t know _why_ he feels like this, he should be better than this, stronger than this. Blaine hasn’t even been gone a day and he’s falling apart at the seams and it’s pathetic, he knows it is but he can’t help it. He can’t stop it. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His voice is thready and he tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, winces. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetie,” Rachel soothes, pets a hand through Kurt’s hair and normally Kurt would be annoyed with her use of pet names, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. “You miss him, that’s normal after everything you’ve been through.” 

“Is it?” Kurt asks with a sniff, focuses on the warmth of Rachel against him, the couch below him, the cool glass of wine clutched in his hand. 

“Well, maybe you are a little co-dependent, but it’s only reasonable after how you’ve had to depend on each other for so long.” 

Kurt draws away, blinks, stares at Rachel. 

“Co-dependent?” 

Rachel bites her lip, nods hesitantly. 

“I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it really,” she looks away, swirls her own glass of wine. “But you are, a little.” 

“Wow. I’m so glad I came over here for _comfort_ ,” Kurt says, takes a swig of his drink. “You’re giving me warm fuzzies all over.” 

“Kurt…” Rachel starts in that voice she gets when she’s trying to make someone understand something very obvious and Kurt is really not in the mood. “I’m just stating a fact. When was the last time you did something _you_ like? Something without Blaine?” 

Kurt glares at the coffee table, doesn’t answer. 

“I always make sure you’re invited to my after parties, and I know you get my karaoke invitations on facebook, but,” Rachel shrugs, “you never come, because you have to stay home with Blaine.” 

Anger fills Kurt, hot and electric and he takes a second to breathe before saying anything he’ll regret. 

“I apologize for missing karaoke night,” the word comes out in a hiss and he’s starting to deeply regret ever coming over here. “And that I prioritized the care of my fiancé, who if you don’t remember, has a severe brain injury.”

“I know,” Rachel says softly, voice full of understanding which only seems to make Kurt even more angry. “You’ve been so good at helping him, I know you have. It’s just…” she pauses, chews her lip. “It’s hard to see you like this sometimes. You used to love to do so much and now… I’m worried you’ve forgotten who _you_ are. Not you and Blaine. Just you.” 

Kurt’s silent, doesn’t know what to say. As much as he hates Rachel right now, there is something about her words that makes him pause, makes him feel uneasy, stomach churning. He knows he’s missed out on things, on parties and shows and events in his friends’ lives, in his own life, but he never really cared, never let himself care. Because Blaine needed him more, Blaine was missing out on so much and so Kurt would too, he stood beside Blaine and he doesn’t regret it for a moment, but.

But. But Blaine is different now, he can do more, stays home by himself and goes out in public on his own, runs errands and meets up with friends, and even went to a movie without Kurt last week. And Kurt… he doesn’t. He goes to work, comes home, worries about money and appointments and what they should have for dinner and doesn’t give himself a moment to breathe. To think. To be. 

He tucks himself into Rachel’s side without another word, closes his eyes and tries not to think. 

Maybe Rachel is right. 

  

_Saturday_

The room is lit with the dim glow of early morning when Blaine’s eyes blink open. His head feels fuzzy with the remnants of a headache and too much sleep; he stretches his arms above his head and groans, tries to figure out where he is. The room isn’t familiar, the walls a rich purple, thick red curtains over the windows, warm and cozy. He squints, spots his duffle bag in the corner, remembers an airplane, a goodbye, the feeling of Cooper warm against him. Cooper. LA. Burbank. 

Blaine can barely repress his grin as he remembers, wiggles himself out from under the covers,  finds his footing on the cool hardwood floor. The hall outside his room is dark and Blaine wonders if it’s still too early for anyone else to be awake yet but he knows there’s no point in trying to fall back asleep now, so he makes his way out of the room. 

After using the bathroom he found behind the first door on the right, he walks down the hallway, on hand trailing on the wall for balance until he finds himself in what he presumes to be the living room. He knows he was here yesterday but his memories feel hazy in the way they always do after a migraine. The room is nice, green plants hanging from the corners, vines spilling down the walls, cozy mismatched couches and a plush carpet taking up the space, a TV in one corner, an ornate vase in the other, a yoga mat nestled inside it. Blaine knows Kurt would find the whole thing a little too Bohemian-chic, but he smiles, thinks it feels nice. Comfortable and warm. 

He shuffles towards the kitchen, pauses to stare into a large tank, layered with dirt and filled with foliage, a large green chameleon staring out at him, unblinking. 

“Huh.” Blaine rests his fingers on the tank. “Hi, Mr. Lizard. Nice to meet you.” 

“It’s a girl actually,” Cooper says from behind Blaine and Blaine turns his head, smiles at his brother. “Her name’s Karma.” 

“Hi, Karma.” Blaine turns back to look at the lizard, gives her a little wave. He wonders what Kurt would think about having a pet lizard, certainly he wouldn’t complain about hair all over his clothes like he does with Belle. 

“How’d you sleep?” Cooper asks, and Blaine can hear the double meaning in the question, the _are you okay_ hidden in the words. 

“Great,” Blaine assures, standing straight and smiling back at Cooper. He has a cup of coffee clutched in his hands, his hair messy and Blaine raises a pointed eyebrow. “Coffee?” 

Cooper laughs, motions for Blaine to follow him. They move into the kitchen, Blaine taking a seat at the table while Cooper pours him a cup of coffee, hesitates with the cream in his hand. Blaine nods and Cooper adds a generous amount, sloshes some over the side as he brings it back to Blaine. 

“This is a nice place,” Blaine observes, taking a sip of his coffee. Cooper beams. 

“Thank you.” Cooper leans back in his chair and Blaine feels content, he’s not at home but he feels safe, somewhere new giving him energy, making him feel vibrant and alive. “It’s all Lauren, she won’t let me do anything that involves any sort of decorating. She says I have no taste.” Cooper shrugs. “I did buy that plant though.” 

He points across the room and Blaine frowns. “The dead one?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Cooper looks sheepish, takes a drink of his coffee. “So, little bro, have anything special in mind while you’re here? If not, don’t fear, I’m a fantastic tour guide.” 

Blaine smiles down at his coffee. “Just the, um, the usual I guess. Hollywood Boul…Boulevard, Universal Studios, um, shopping? Oh, and I heard about this, um, this place, a, uh, a record store… Atomic Records? It’s supposed to be the best and Kurt gave me a rec…” a breath, collect thoughts, “a record player for my birthday this year.” A strong finish, Blaine feels proud of himself, so many words and very little faltering. 

“Atomic Records?” Cooper sounds impressed. “That’s right here in Burbank. You did your research.” 

Blaine smiles, sips at his coffee, takes extra care not to spill, to coordinate his movements as much as he can. Cooper gets up to make them breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast, easy conversation between them, Cooper telling Blaine about work (he’d landed a role in a soap opera as a doctor with repressed memories and a foot fetish and Blaine finds the whole thing confusing, but he smiles and nods and tries to be supportive anyways), about Lauren’s new job in a spa for burgeoning celebrities, about the increasing price of chameleon food and Blaine starts to tune out, Cooper’s chatter a comforting background noise. He thinks about New York, about airplanes and how can anyone really expect to be comfortable in those tiny seats, about Mike and his own apparent lack of social skills, the embarrassment fading as time wedges itself between then and now. 

Maybe this will be good for him, he thinks, stirs more cream in the coffee Cooper refilled. Maybe he does need to get away for awhile, to do his own thing and learn to be on his own. He loves Kurt, loves him more than he even knows how to explain, but he’s always there, always taking charge and helping Blaine more than Blaine really needs and how is he supposed to learn to do things on his own if he never gets the chance? How is he supposed to interact with old friends, to make new friends, to start going to work and actually living his life if he can’t even hold a simple conversation, if he’s always looking for Kurt to come rescue him? 

Yes, he decides with a sense of finality. This is a good thing. 

-

Kurt spends the morning staring at the empty half of the bed, the covers neatly made and barely disturbed in Kurt’s sleep. Kurt doesn’t like waking up alone, he decides. His eyes feel weighted, slightly dazed, he’d tossed and turned all night, couldn’t get comfortable, too aware of the empty space next to him. 

He rolls out of bed in the morning and thinks of Blaine, showers methodically and thinks of Blaine, slowly drinks his coffee and thinks of Blaine. He wonders what Blaine’s doing, if he slept okay, if he still had a headache, if it’s too early to try and call him. He wonders if Blaine’s having as hard a time as he is, if Coopers being a better support system than Rachel. 

He wonders if maybe he really does need help.

Co-dependent. The word rings in his head and he shakes his head. “Stop.” The words fall flat, Belle cocking her head to look at him curiously. He looks back at her, pats her nose. “I think I’m falling apart.” 

And then, almost as if in answer, his phone lights up with a call, a picture of Blaine on his birthday, smiling next to his cake, flashing onto the screen. 

“Hey,” he answers, forces himself to smile, to pretend everything is fine, that he’s not suffering his own version of a quarter-life crisis. 

“Hi,” Blaine answers back, and god, he sounds _happy_. “Sorry I didn’t call yesterday.” 

“It’s fine,” Kurt says quickly, digs his fingers into the couch cushions next to him. “Cooper called me, how’s your head?” 

“It’s good,” Blaine says and Kurt knows he’s telling the truth, Blaine never was good at pretending to be anything that he’s not. “I think the flight wore me out.” 

“How was the flight?” Kurt asks, leans back into the couch and closes his eyes, focuses on the sound of Blaine’s voice. 

“Fine,” Blaine answers and his voice muffles, Kurt can hear him talking away from the phone, probably to Cooper. “It wasn’t bad, just, uh, long. Cooper’s taking me to a record store to… today.” 

“The one you’ve been talking about?” Kurt asks, knows how excited Blaine’s been about this store; he’d taken a recent obsession to finding obscure records since Kurt got him that record player for his birthday. 

“Yeah,” Blaine says excitedly. “And tomorrow we’re going to, to Universal Studios!” 

“That’s great, Blaine,” Kurt says, looks up at the ceiling and wills himself not to cry. “Sounds like a lot of fun.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, pauses. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine,” Kurt says, thinks _co-dependent._ “Just… send me some pictures, okay?” 

“I will,” Blaine promises. After they hang up, Kurt stares at his phone, looks over to Belle who nudges her head against his leg. 

“I think Rachel might be right,” he says, reaches forward to pet Belle’s head. “But don’t tell her I said that.” 

  

_Sunday_

The sand is hot, the kind of hot that makes you hurry to your sandals, that leaves the bottom of your feet feeling scorched and tender. But Blaine barely even notices, lays stretched out on his towel, feels his skin soaking up the hot rays of sun, sees red through his closed eyelids. There’s a noise and a laugh and Blaine squints open one eye, sees Cooper above him with his phone. 

“Did you just take a picture?” Blaine asks, frowns. 

“Well Kurt wanted you to take pictures, didn’t he?” Cooper points out, flopping onto the towel beside Blaine. “And I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean of the scenery.” 

Blaine snorts and rolls over, props himself up on his elbows and snatches for his phone. Cooper’s already sent a picture message to Kurt, followed by a winky face. 

 _Sorry, Cooper stole my phone_ , Blaine types out and sends, pauses a moment. _But enjoy the picture :)_

He’s not used to this, being so far from Kurt, sending him messages with the knowledge that he’s not going to see him that evening, not going to be there when Kurt gets home from work, not going to be there to walk Belle with him as the sun sets, to fall into bed together, lazy and pliant and cuddly. 

 _Wish I could be there_ , the text from Kurt comes back and Blaine strokes his finger across the screen, gives a sad smile. He doesn’t know how Kurt’s doing, but he hopes he’s okay, that he’s keeping himself busy, maybe reconnecting with some friends, doing all the things he hasn’t gotten to do lately. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Cooper’s voice breaks through his thoughts and Blaine squints up at him. 

“What?” 

Cooper shrugs. “You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger or something.” 

“Oh.” Blaine looks down, traces a line in the hot sand. “Just thinking about Kurt.” 

“Anything PG you want to talk about?” Cooper asks, flops onto his belly beside Blaine, draws a smiley face in the san beside Blaine’s line. Blaine adds two oversized ears to the face.

“There, now it’s you.” 

“Shut up,” Cooper laughs, messes up the sand so the face is gone. A pause, Blaine stares into the sand. 

“Do you think he’s going to resent me?” 

“Who, Kurt?” Cooper looks at Blaine like he’s gone crazy. Blaine doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“I mean, not now but… when he’s older? Because… because I made him miss out on, on so much?” 

“Blaine…” Cooper starts, turns to lay on his side. “I don’t think Kurt sees it that way, he likes helping you.” 

“I just…” Blaine huffs, wishes his brain would hurry up and let him string together a coherent sentence. “I feel bad. He doesn’t do the things he used to anymore and…” Blaine sucks in a breath, wonders why he suddenly feels so stupidly emotional. “I’m worried he’s going to regret it.” 

“Oh Blaine,” Cooper says, smiles softly at him. “I don’t think Kurt’s physically capable of regretting anything about you. I think the only thing he would regret is if he _hadn’t_ spent the last few years with you.”

“I wish he never had to.” The words are small, a whispered truth and Blaine rarely lets himself think in _what ifs_ , rarely lets himself imagine a different past, because he knows if he starts he’ll never stop and it hurts too much. 

“So do I, Blainey bear,” Cooper says, reaches forward to ruffles Blaine’s hair. This time Blaine doesn’t bat him away. “We all do.” 

Blaine swallows around the lump in his throat, blinks back the tears that have gathered against his will, pushes himself up, forces himself to stop thinking. 

“Can we make a sand castle?” he asks and Cooper sits up beside him, nudges his shoulder. 

“Of course.” 

-

Chinese takeout containers cool on the coffee table, long forgotten. Kurt sits slumped on the couch, a tub of ice cream balanced on his lap, stares blankly at the TV, his movie long since ended and a soap opera dramatically acting on the screen. Kurt blinks, gives an empty laugh. It’s Cooper’s soap opera, he realizes, shakes his head at the sight of Cooper pointing at something in the distance. Figures.

He tries not to think about his phone, sitting silent on the table. Blaine’s texted him a few times, from the beach, the record store, a picture of him standing next to a palm tree. But there’s a long delay between replies, his messages sounding half thought out and hurried, like he’s so busy he doesn’t have the time. And Kurt knows this is why he went, he _needs_ this trip, needs to get out of the house and do things, needs to spend time with his brother and explore the world, he hasn’t gotten to go anywhere except Ohio in the last two years and Kurt really his happy for him, it’s just. 

Just. He doesn’t know why he can’t cope like a normal person, why he feels like his whole world is falling apart just because Blaine isn’t here. Co-dependent. He hates that stupid word, hates the truth he knows lies inside it. Blaine needed him for so long, depended and relied on Kurt’s help, Kurt’s love, Kurt always being by his side and now… now he doesn’t. Not really. But Kurt does, needs Blaine’s smile in the morning, needs Blaine’s warm body beside him at night when he wakes up from nightmares, needs to know he’s okay, he’s whole, nothing else has happened. 

They’re getting worse. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the fear of walking outside at night so intense he leaves work early just to make it home before dark. It’s so frustrating Kurt wants to _scream_ because time is supposed to make these things better, memories of _that night_ should fade and leave him alone. Blaine’s getting better, every day he smiles and fills himself with the vibrance of too much life missed, and so why can’t Kurt? 

It’s not fair, he decides, crosses his arms over his chest. It’s not fair and he wants to change, wants to just be happy again, to be able to go out with his friends without feeling like he can’t breathe, to enjoy going into work, to go into a mall without worrying about Blaine, without worrying about all the people pressed around and what if one of _them_ is there, one of the men responsible for hurting Blaine and it fills his head, constricts him like a too tight blanket and…

Breathe. 

Again.

Kurt sucks in a breath, feels the couch solid under him, the damp cold on his cheeks, reminds himself that he’s at home, there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s home. 

He looks down at Belle, curled up beside the couch, over at his phone, still dark, and decides.

Something has to change.

**tbc**


	24. Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aren’t things supposed to get better with time?” he asks, waves his hand. “Memories fade and all that.” 
> 
> “Unfortunately, it always seems to be the hard memories that like to stick around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for brief sexual content, talk about PTSD, anxiety and panic attacks, and mentions of suicide.
> 
> A huge thanks to completelyunabashed and andercas for looking this over for me. You rock.

_Tuesday_

Blaine stands in front of the mirror, the edges fogged from his shower. He’d taken his time this morning, partly because today they’re going to Cooper’s work and he knows he’ll get nervous with extra time to sit around this morning, and partly because he misses Kurt. A lot. In many ways. And he doesn’t feel comfortable jerking off at night with Cooper and Lauren in the next room, figures the shower is a safer bet. It still takes him awhile, his body slow to respond to his own awkward motions, but he does get there, eventually. 

And that’s what matters. Focus on the positives. 

He tries. 

He runs his fingers through his hair, tries to style it as best he can, examines himself closer in the mirror. His skin has gotten a slight tan from the hours spent at the beach yesterday, an almost sunburned pink glow on his shoulders, his cheeks. He still feels too thin, but they’ve been stepping it up in his physical therapy class lately, and he thinks he can see a little more definition than he could before. His thumb runs over the tiny scar in his stomach, a jagged dip in his skin where his feeding tube had been, a permanent reminder. He’s been self conscious for a while, worried about how Kurt sees him, if he still finds him attractive or sees him another way. As someone who needs to be taken care of, someone weak and vulnerable, unable to do things for himself.  He chews on his lip and smiles; if Kurt doesn’t like how he looks he hasn’t let it show, in fact he’s made it very well known several times just how attractive he finds Blaine. 

And it feels good. To still be seen that way, Blaine thinks, tries to draw his shoulders up and find some confidence. “You look good,” he whispers to his reflection, feels a bit ridiculous but he doesn’t care, it’s been so long since he’s been okay with the image that looks back at him from the mirror, and with a swift nod at himself, he pulls his bathrobe around him and leaves the bathroom. 

-

When Kurt meets Janessa after work the first thing he does is collapse his head onto the table in front of him and let out a groan. 

“Rough day?” Janessa asks sympathetically, reaches to pat at Kurt’s shoulder. 

“Rough week,” Kurt responds, words muffled against the arm in between his face and the table. 

“Need to talk it out?” Janessa asks before a waiter approaches their table. Janessa orders two Bloody Mary’s before Kurt even has a chance to lift his head, and he raises an eyebrow at Janessa. 

“It’s only four,” he states and Janessa shrugs.

“It’s a breakfast drink,” she says simply, and Kurt stares at her.

“It’s only four,” he repeats. Janessa cracks a smile.

“Tell me you weren’t going to go home and drink a bottle of wine all to yourself anyways,” Janessa counters, and Kurt thinks about the unopened bottle of Merlot he’d picked up last night, concedes that Janessa’s probably right. 

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Kurt moans, lets his head fall back on his arm and he knows he’s being melodramatic, but he really doesn’t care. 

“Maybe a little bit,” Janessa says, but there’s no bite to her words, her face one of sympathetic understanding when Kurt looks up to glare at her. The waiter returns with their drinks and Kurt orders a chicken salad, figures he needs to balance out all the ice cream he’s been eating somehow. 

“So I take it I don’t need to ask how you’ve been doing with Blaine gone,” Janessa says slowly, breaching the topic Kurt wants to pretend doesn’t have to exist. He stares into his drink, takes a sip, feels the spice of it linger on his tongue. 

“Hey.” Janessa’s voice is soft, her hand reaching to give Kurt’s a squeeze. “You okay?” 

Kurt shakes his head, his throat painfully tight, jaw clenched against the wave of emotions crawling through him and when did he get like this, so easily set off by the smallest question? 

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, his words small, eyes looking pleadingly at Janessa, wanting _someone_ to have an answer for him. Janessa waits patiently for him to continue, her hand still wrapped in his, anchoring him. “I feel like.” He pauses, swallows, thinks. What does he feel like? Words flee away from him, his brain struggling to put such transient emotions into something understandable, something that makes sense, something he can work with, something he can change. 

“I feel like I’m being left behind,” he says, watches the condensation gather on the side of his drink. “I don’t know if that makes any sense, but Blaine, he just… he’s doing so much, he’s getting his life back and I’m… I feel like I’m stuck.” 

“Stuck where?” Janessa prompts, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Kurt pauses again, draws in a breath. “I can’t stop thinking about that night.” He looks up to meet Janessa’s eyes. “About the night it happened. And it’s so _stupid_ because it wasn’t like this before, I thought about it sometimes but not…” Breathe. In. Out. “Not like this.” 

“Kurt…” Janessa starts and Kurt looks back down, feels his face flushing with the weight of his admission. 

“Aren’t things supposed to get better with time?” he asks, waves his hand. “Memories fade and all that.” 

“Unfortunately, it always seems to be the hard memories that like to stick around,” Janessa says and the conversation pauses as the waiter returns, their plates balanced carefully in his hands. They thank him, though neither are that interested in eating when he leaves. Kurt pokes at a piece of lettuce, Janessa glancing sadly at her hamburger. 

“I think you should talk to someone about this,” she says after a moment. “Someone professional I mean.” 

“I am.” Kurt nibbles his salad, but his stomach feels like it’s been lined with lead. “I’ve been seeing someone once a month, but…” he shrugs, “I guess we haven’t really talked about _this_.” 

“I think it might be a good idea,” Janessa says with a comforting smile. “You shouldn’t have to feel like this.” 

“Thank you,” Kurt whispers, voice shaky. “It’s just been hard, with Blaine gone. I think I’m realizing that he doesn’t need me anymore, not like he used to, and I guess it’s making me feel a little lost.” 

“Well,” Janessa says, grabbing Kurt’s hand to squeeze it once more. “I know for a fact that you have friends who would love to help you find your way back again.” 

Kurt smiles at her and it’s mostly real, because she’s right. It’s easy to forget how many people he has in his life, after years of staying home with Blaine, rarely ever leaving, always declining invitations because he can’t just leave Blaine alone, he’s forgotten just how many people have been there to support him, to listen when he needs, to help if he asks and it really is a humbling thought. 

“Thanks, Janessa,” Kurt says, wraps his hands around his Bloody Mary. “It means a lot.” 

“Anything for my bro,” she says, straight faced and Kurt groans. 

“I will refuse to associate with you if you keep calling me that.” He glares at her and she sticks out her tongue and and he thinks he feels a little lighter, lets himself smile for real this time. 

“You’re suppressing your id, you know,” Janessa says, raises a pointed eyebrow at him.

“My what?” Kurt frowns. 

“Your id. You know, your inner child.”

“My id is perfectly fine, thank you,” Kurt straightens his back. “I have plenty of inner child.” 

“Oh really?” 

Kurt nods sharply. “He likes ice cream and cheesecake and watching Pixar movies all day. And wine. Lots of wine.” 

Janessa snorts. “Sounds more like an inner college student.” 

“So, how have you been?” Kurt asks, pointedly changing the subject and taking a large bite of salad. Janessa’s face lights up and she leans over, fiddles with her purse for a moment before pulling out an envelope, sliding it across the table to Kurt. Kurt’s mouth drops open when he realizes what it is.

“Your wedding, oh my god, I completely forgot, I’m _awful_ ,” Kurt rambles, opens the envelope to see an invitation, decorated with a sage green ribbon. 

“Kurt,” Janessa says, voice a warning tone. “You’re allowed to forget things, you know. You’ve been going through a lot lately. But now I’ve reminded you, so you’re in the clear and I can officially ask you to come dress shopping with me.” 

Kurt blinks a few times, takes in what Janessa just said before proclaiming _yes!_ very loudly. “Oh my gosh, yes, I would be _honored_ …” He leans back in his chair, takes her in subjectively. “You definitely want an A-line, maybe with some lace on top, though a trumpet would be gorgeous with your waistline.” Kurt squints and nods satisfactorily, takes another bite of salad. Janessa’s cheeks are red, her eyes excited. 

“I do have a budget, you know.” 

Kurt sighs. “You can’t put a price on beauty.” 

“You can when you have two sets of student loans to pay off,” Janessa responds, looking amused. Kurt smiles, looks at Janessa earnestly.

“Thank you.” The words are weighted, mean so much more than wedding dresses and Janessa reaches forward to poke Kurt’s nose. 

“You’re welcome,” she smiles, grabs a fry and dunks it in ketchup. “Now, I think you were talking about how beautiful I am?” 

“Was I?” Kurt laughs, but pulls out the notebook he keeps in his satchel at all times, and they spend the rest of their lunch taking notes on Janessa’s wedding, Kurt’s heart feeling lighter than it’s felt all week.

-

Blaine’s vibrating in the front seat, his Starbucks cup clutched in his hands and he’s starting to think the extra caffeine was a bad idea. Cooper glances over at him a few times, but doesn’t say anything, Blaine content to stare out the window as LA passes by them. 

They pull into the set parking lot, Blaine clutching his cane tightly and wishing he didn’t need it, not when they’re about to meet all these people that Cooper knows, that he’s friends with, that most likely know all about him and he’s just making it even more obvious that he’s someone to feel sorry for-

“Blaine?” Cooper’s voice breaks through his thoughts and Blaine jerks his head to the side, looks up at Cooper. “You look a little tense.” 

Blaine gives a shaky laugh, his limbs feel jittery and he’s really regretting the extra coffee now, he feels like he might just explode out of his skin at any moment. “I guess I’m a little nervous.” 

“It won’t take long, okay? They just need to do some fittings and then we’ll be outta here, sound good?” 

Blaine nods. He’s being silly, it’s just Cooper’s work, they don’t even start filming until next week and barely anyone will be here, how does he expect to go back to his own work if he can’t even go somewhere he’ll never have to go again? _Just think of this as practice_ , he tells himself, concentrates on feeling the ground solid under his feet, on each breath, on the confidence he had this morning. 

Cooper leads Blaine into a giant warehouse and Blaine takes in what looks like a pretty typical movie set, with several fake rooms that Blaine recognizes from the few (very few) episodes he’s watched of Cooper’s show, a fake garden. They keep walking and Blaine sees the hospital room sets where Cooper spends most of his time, and Blaine chuckles at the inaccuracies, doesn’t even feel upset that he’s had enough experience to be able to pick out everything that’s wrong with the set, mostly just amused. Cooper arches an eyebrow at him, but Blaine keeps his mouth shut, he knows how proud Cooper is of his show, how invested he is in it and he’s not about to start criticizing it. He just makes a note to laugh about it with Kurt later. 

There are a few people walking about, some Blaine recognizes and a few that obviously work behind the scenes, walking around like they’re completely at home, with a business like approach, regarding things with a critical eye, constantly making adjustments or changes. 

Cooper leaves Blaine to wait outside a room while he gets fitted, tells Blaine he won’t take long. Blaine sits on a bench near the door, feels awkward and out of place, drums his thumbs on his knees. He watches people move around, some nod towards him but no one stops to talk, they start filming again in just over a week, and Blaine knows they must be busy. Even soap operas have standards to uphold, he supposes. 

He thinks about texting Kurt. He hasn’t talked to him yet today, but something stalls him. This is supposed to be good for them, isn’t it? Having some space, learning to be apart, letting Kurt actually have free time, and Blaine tries to think about what it means, really. To be apart. He’s based his whole recovery, everything he’s learned and relearned, all on Kurt. All for Kurt. Everything he does, he does with Kurt in mind, and he wonders if maybe it’s okay to do something for himself, if it’s okay for Kurt to want to do something for himself too. He wonders-

“What’s that?” A voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he jumps, sees two kids, a small girl and a slightly older boy, standing off to his side. The boy points to his cane and Blaine wraps his fingers reflexively around the polished wood.

“It’s a cane,” Blaine answers, glances around to see if anyone is looking for these kids, shifts where he’s sitting. 

“Why do you have a cane?” the boy asks, his look quizzical. Blaine frowns, falters.

“To, uh, help me balance.” 

“Cool. Are you one of the grownups?” Blaine blinks, head spinning from the fast questions. 

“Nope. Not a grownup,” he answers and the girl, she can’t be older than five, looks up at the boy with an almost reverent look.

“Do you want to see our fort?” The boy looks earnest, and Blaine glances back at the door his brother is hiding behind, shrugs.

“I’d love to,” he agrees, because why not. The girl gives a happy squeak as Blaine balances the cane in one hand, takes the offered hand of the girl in the other. 

“What’s your name?” He asks the girl as they lead him to a corner of the room he hadn’t seen before. The boy turns back to him. “She’s deaf. Her name’s Annabelle” 

“Oh,” Blaine says, looks down at her small hand in his, gives it a squeeze and she smiles up at him. The boy signs something to her and she giggles.

“My name’s Tristan,” he says, nodding, and his floppy hair falls in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Tristan,” Blaine says. “I’m Blaine.” 

“That’s cool. I’m Nine. Anna’s four. We’ve been working on this for a long time, it’s kind of a secret,” Tristan says with a shrug and the kind of boastful nonchalance only a nine year old can possess. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Blaine says, frowns as he tries to find the word. “Promise.” 

“Good,” Tristan says with a nod, and leads them around the corner of a set. Blankets are held up by chairs, tacked to the outside of a fake window and Blaine has to crouch to a crawl in order to follow Tristan and Annabelle inside. 

“Wow,” Blaine exclaims, sitting on a soft blanket underneath him, his knees pressed up to his chest to make room. “This is great.” 

“Thanks,” Tristan says, looks around proudly. “We’ve been building it since yesterday.” 

Blaine nods seriously, sees Annabelle looking up at him and he smiles at her. She signs something to Tristan and he signs back, his face an expression of annoyance. 

“She wants to sit in your lap,” Tristan says with a grumble, grabs at a bag of Doritos that were shoved behind a blanket. 

“Oh,” Blaine says, surprised. “Sure.” He lowers his legs in a pretzel and Annabelle scoots herself into his lap, touches his face and laughs. 

“Are you guys siblings?” He asks Tristan once Annabelle has settled herself. 

“Yeah.” The answer is slightly muffled by the Doritos in his mouth. “My mom works here. She makes costumes.” 

“My, uh, my brother’s an actor,” Blaine says, bounces Annabelle a little on his lap. “His name’s Cooper.” 

Tristan squints, looks at him curiously.

“My mom told me Cooper’s brother was in an accident,” Tristan says, his voice almost challenging. “That’s why Cooper kept leaving work all the time.” 

Blaine doesn’t know what to say, feels shocked and stupid for feeling that way because it’s not like his life ends outside of Kurt and Cooper and his parents. It’s not like he’s never heard gossip from coworkers, like he didn’t listen with concern when another teacher’s sister had breast cancer, like he doesn’t know everything that’s going on in Kurt’s office. It just… throws him, in a way he isn’t expecting, to hear the words from a nine year old in a blanket fort. 

“That was me.” Blaine keeps his voice even, sees the way Tristan cocks his head while pushing hair from his eyes. 

“You don’t look that bad,” Tristan observes. “My mom said you were disabled. She always talked about how bad she felt for you and your family.”

Blaine considers, taps a pattern on Annabelle’s knee. She’s wearing thick white tights under her dress and Blaine notices a rip on her shin, her knees dirty from crawling around, he guesses.

“I’m a lot better now,” Blaine says, lets Annabelle play with his fingers. “I wasn’t for awhile.” 

“Is that why you have a cane?” Tristan asks, the Doritos already forgotten. Blaine nods. “I wish I had a cane,” Tristan continues, looking excited. “I’d get one with a sword inside, and then I could fight off all the bad guys.” 

Blaine smiles, lets himself laugh. “That’s a good idea.” 

“You could always hit people on the head with yours,” Tristan suggests.

“What if I,” Blaine swallows. “What if I want to be nice to people?” 

“Oh,” Tristan says, nods slowly. “You could do that I suppose. Want to play a game?” 

They play Go Fish for awhile, Tristan translating for Annabelle, and Blaine lets her look at his cards, thinks Tristan bends the rules a few times, but he really doesn’t care, he’s actually having fun, more fun than he’s had in a long time. An ache settles in his stomach along with the Doritos Tristan has been sharing with him, and Blaine misses his students, misses being surrounded by _this_ every day, by kids who know how to laugh freely, who are so eager and willing to learn once you make things fun for them. He misses being a teacher, and the thought of sitting at home alone all day makes something churn inside him. 

And he makes a resolution. He’s already been talking to the director of the school, set to come back for half days in the fall and work alongside the teacher they hired while he’s been gone, but he’d been set last spring too, and that had never happened. He’s not going to let it get pushed back this time, he’s not going to let this stupid thing that happened to him stall his life anymore. 

“Uh, Blaine?” Tristan’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “It’s your turn.” 

Blaine apologizes, asks for a queen of diamonds even though he knows Tristan doesn’t have one. They play for a while longer, Tristan telling Blaine about his school and how much he loves playing basketball and his cool friend Paul who has an Xbox _and_ a Playstation, and makes sure to look impressed at everything Tristan’s telling him. He’s starting to wonder if maybe he should head back so Cooper doesn’t get worried when Blaine isn’t waiting for him, when a voice comes from outside the blanket fort.

“Knock knock?” 

Cooper’s head peeks through, smiles when he sees Blaine. Blaine smiles back, feels a little sheepish, sitting in a blanket fort, surrounded by playing cards and Dorito crumbs.

“Hey, Coop,” Blaine greets.

“Make some friends?” Cooper asks, ruffles Annabelle’s hair as he squeezes into the fort. “We figured you might be back here when we couldn’t find you.” 

Tristan doesn’t seem that upset that Cooper knows where his secret fort is, just offers some cards over.

“Do you want to play?” 

“I’d love to, bud, but Blaine and I have a lunch date to get too,” Cooper says. Tristan looks disappointed, but shrugs like he’s trying not to show it. 

“But he’s here for a few more days, so maybe you guys can come over this weekend and we can play more then?” Cooper suggests and Blaine actually feels like that’s something he would look forward too.

“Okay,” Tristan agrees, shoving his cards into a pile in the corner. They crawl out of the fort; Blaine’s legs feel stiff when he stands up and he has to lean on his cane a little more than he’d like. 

There’s a woman standing outside, she’s small but has long hair the same color as Tristan’s. 

“You must be Blaine,” she says, extends a hand out. “I’m Lisa, I created these two rascals.” Blaine takes her hand and she steps forward to give him a quick hug.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Blaine says.

“She’s the one who makes sure I look good,” Cooper explains, flashes his teeth in a smile. 

“It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it,” she says and Blaine chuckles, tries to discretely wiggle his feet to rid them of the pins and needles from sitting so long. “I’m so happy you made it down here, Cooper’s been talking about you nonstop.” 

Cooper blushes and Blaine feels heat in his own cheeks, doesn’t really know what to say. He settles on “thank you,” looks over to Cooper. 

“We should probably be heading out,” Cooper says and Blaine feels relieved. 

“It was very nice to meet you,” Blaine says, nodding at Lisa before turning to look at Tristan and Annabelle. “Thanks for, um, letting me hide in your blanket fort.” 

Tristan shrugs, which Blaine thinks might be his favorite thing to do. “No problem.” He gives Annabelle a hug and follows Cooper out, feeling a little bit lighter. 

-

“So…” Cooper starts, looking pointedly at Blaine over his hamburger. “You were great with those kids.” 

Blaine chews at his fry, watches his Diet Coke sweat on the table. They’d stopped at Cooper’s favorite restaurant for lunch, an old fashion burger joint in a building that looks like a chrome box, with garish pink seats and 50s pop songs straining from the overhead speakers. 

“They were pretty easy to please,” he responds, stabs another fry into some ketchup. “All I had to do was lis… um, listen and nod.” 

Cooper hums, a smile on his face and Blaine knows nothing good can come of this. 

“It made me excited to get, uh,” Blaine pokes his hamburger. He’d been doing so well all day, words and sentences coming easily to him, and now they’re stalling, slowing down and making him work for it. “Teaching. Again. To be teaching again.” There. 

“You’ll do great,” Cooper says, pushes the milkshake they’re sharing towards Blaine. “You’re a natural with kids. They’ll be glad to have you back, I’m sure.” He pauses, thinking. “Plus, you could always just overdose them with candy and then they’ll love you no matter what. And make sure to point and yell at random intervals. Kids always love that.” 

Blaine raises an eyebrow, wonders if that’s why Cooper has never actually had much success getting kids to like him. “-m nervous but, I think I’m ready.” He gives a determined nod, grabs at the milkshake washes down the remnants of his french fries with it. 

Cooper eats his hamburger, watches Blaine with an intensity that makes Blaine feel uncomfortable. 

“Speaking of kids,” Cooper says after a minute, setting his hamburger down with a delicacy he generally lacks. “My dear little baby brother of mine. Our mother, the woman who so selflessly birthed us, called me the other week to complain about how she’d expected to have grandchildren by now, and how she’s had to resort to buying baby clothes for her cats.” 

Blaine’s mouth goes dry, his throat suddenly too thick to keep eating. 

“Lauren and I have both decided this procreating business is messy and we enjoy our lives free of attachments and smelly diapers, but I told her not to give up hope, you and Kurt might decide to pop out a few miniature humans, hypothetically speaking.”

Blaine’s silent, and Cooper nudges his foot under the table. “So? Any plans you haven’t told me? Any nieces or nephews in the future for me?” 

“I, uh…” Blaine coughs, clears his throat. “We haven’t really… you know. Talked about it.” 

“Really?” Cooper says, voice full of disbelief. “What, 10 years together and you guys haven’t talked about having kids?” 

“We did _before_ ,” Blaine says, feels his face heating up. “Just not since, you know. I sort of just figured it was,” Blaine shrugs, “off the table.”  

The waitress comes by, and Cooper hands her his credit card with a smile.

“Why not? You’d be a great dad, Blaine. Anyone could see that.” 

Blaine lets out a humorless laugh. “You must be really dense.” 

Cooper looks offended. Blaine shakes his head. “I can’t even take care of myself. How could…” Blaine stops, the words leaving him, as they so often do when he feels annoyance rising hot inside of him.

“Well you could’ve fooled me,” Cooper says, voice firm. “It seems like you’ve done a pretty good job taking care of yourself since you’ve gotten here.”

Blaine keeps his jaw clenched, stares resolutely down at the table. 

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Cooper says, apologetic. “But I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself.” 

“Just drop it,” Blaine grits out, digs his fingernails into his jeans. 

“Okay,” Cooper concedes, accepts his receipt from the waitress who hurries away like she knows she’s interrupting something important. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

Blaine lets out his breath, feels a bit bad for his reaction but the subject feels like pressing a thumb into a bruise, tender and fresh, sending an ache deep into his core. They leave the restaurant and drive home mostly in silence, Cooper occasionally trying to bring a smile to Blaine’s face with a sarcastic remark. When they pull into the driveway Blaine closes his eyes, draws in a deep breath and tries to shove everything away, imagines the hurt as a tiny ball of light, throws it into the sky, and moves on. 

“Can we go to that bookstore you were telling me about?” he asks Cooper, tries to smile at him as best he can. Cooper smiles back and nods, eyes lighting up when he realizes Blaine isn’t mad at him. 

“Of course,” Cooper agrees, reaches across to squeeze Blaine’s shoulder, before putting the car in reverse.

_Wednesday_  

**To Kurt [10:32 am]** _I miss waking up next to you_

Kurt runs his fingers over the message pulled up on the phone, smiles. His knee bounces, nervous energy running through his veins with each pound of his heart.

“Kurt?” He stands quickly, leaves the waiting room and follows the figure in front of him into her cozy office, settles himself into his usual spot; an oversized armchair beside the couch. He doesn’t like the couch, it feels too… clinical. It makes him feel like he’s actually crazy, and not just here for… casual conversation. With someone who asks a lot of questions. 

“How are you today, Kurt?” his therapist, Shanti, asks, settling into the chair across from him and tucking her notepad in her lap. 

“Okay,” Kurt responds, keeps his back straight and his head held high. He’d started seeing her at Blaine’s insistence after his panic attack at the fireworks show, just once a month and he’s never really… opened up, never really been honest with her, just accepts her tips on managing stress and dealing with traumatic events with a nod and a smile, never looks over them again. 

“You seem a little tense today,” Shanti observes, twirls the pen in her fingers. “More than usual.” 

Kurt looks down at his hands, sees them clenched together tight enough to turn his knuckles white and he lets out a breath, tries to force himself to relax a little.

“Can I make you some tea?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods, chews at his lip as she makes her way back to the Keurig in the corner of the room. She usually makes them tea, explained the first time that it can help to have something else to focus on, and Kurt wonders how many cups of tea she must drink in a day, if she drinks it with every client. 

“Sleepytime?” she asks, twisting around to look at Kurt and he nods again, tries to make himself look even more relaxed. 

“Blaine’s gone,” Kurt says, when Shanti sets his tea on the table beside him, the words sudden, like he can’t hold them in anymore. “He left last Friday to visit his brother in L.A.” 

Shanti nods slowly, sinks back into her own chair. “When does he come back?” 

“Monday,” Kurt answers, watches the steam rise from his mug of tea. 

“That’s a long time,” Shanti says, jots something on her notepad before sticking her pen behind her ear. “I’d imagine it’s a bit of an adjustment?” 

Kurt knee starts bouncing again. “A few of my friends said I should probably talk to you about it.” He stares at a spot on the carpet, not really seeing it, feels his heart pounding in his chest, wonders why this is so hard to talk about, the words reluctant molasses on his tongue. He sucks in a breath. “I guess I’m not… Lately, I haven’t been dealing with things… well.” 

Shanti nods, tilts her head slightly. “In what way?” 

Kurt blinks, swallows, considers. “I…” His throat feels tight and he tries to clear it. “I guess I always thought that things would start to get better as Blaine got better, but…” He shrugs, shifts in his seat. 

“Things aren’t meeting your expectations?” Shanti suggested, tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Kurt shakes his head, not sure if he can speak around the lump in his throat. “How about we start by talking about what expectations you had, and we’ll build off that. Does that sound okay?” 

Shanti’s words are gentle and Kurt likes that, how she always makes sure he’s on board with what they’re going to talk about, knows how to direct the conversation so Kurt can get his thoughts to actually make sense. He nods, takes a sip of his tea and tries to organize his thoughts. 

“I think I expected that things would go back to the way they were before. That eventually we would just be able to… move on from what happened. Pick up our old lives.” Kurt gives a bitter laugh. “That was really stupid of me, wasn’t it.” 

Shanti shakes her head. “It’s not stupid at all. It’s a normal feeling, after going through something traumatic, to want to return to a time where things might have seemed easier, or more familiar.” 

Kurt lets his eyes flicker up to meet hers for a moment. “I guess I just… I expected I would feel better with time, you know? Not worse.” 

“What makes you feel like you’re getting worse?” Shanti asks, jotting something quick on her notepad. 

Kurt wets his lips with his tongue, struggles to find the right words. 

“I keep having these, um… these attacks? Where I can’t breathe and all I can think about is _that night_ and I just want it to stop,” his voice wavers, tears pricking at his eyes and he digs his nails into the chair under him. “Everything reminds me of it and I used to be able to ignore it, with Blaine but…” He lets out his breath, slowly, blinks rapidly and focuses on not crying, he’s not going to cry, not like this it’s so _humiliating_ why can’t he do a single thing right and-

“Kurt?” His thoughts stop abruptly and he looks up at Shanti, sees her concerned face looking back. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick and he feels pathetic, sitting here and crying to the therapist he didn’t even want to see in the first place. 

“Kurt, I need to ask you something, and it might seem a little direct, but it’s something we need to address before we move on, okay?” Shanti says, voice gentle and Kurt sniffs, nods.

“Do you feel safe?” Shanti asks and Kurt blinks, doesn’t understand. “Do you have any thoughts or plans to hurt yourself?” 

“Oh,” Kurt says, feels surprised. “No, I… no. I don’t want to kill myself, if that’s what you mean.” 

Shanti nods. “Will you tell me, or someone close to you, if any of those feelings arise? My main concern is that you stay safe.” 

“I will,” Kurt says, staring at his knees. “It’s not that I want to die or anything, I just… I want to stop feeling this way.” 

“What way is that?” Shanti inquires gently. 

“Like I’m drowning,” Kurt whispers. A moment passes and he takes a careful sip of his tea. “I feel like… I should be happy Blaine’s getting so much better, shouldn’t I?” Shanti doesn’t nod or shake her head, just watches Kurt patiently, waits for him to continue. “But I feel like it’s crushing me, I’ve spent so much time taking care of him, I did _everything_ for him. Do you know what it’s like to have to feed your own fiancé through a tube because he’ll choke if he eats food?  I structured my whole life around taking care of him, I fed him and dressed him and, god, I wiped his ass, and now…” he shrugs. 

“You feel like he doesn’t need you like he used to?” Shanti suggests and Kurt nods, runs this thumb down the mug to catch an escaped droplet of tea.

“But I still need him,” Kurt says, voice a thin waver. “Since he left for L.A. I’ve just felt…” a rogue tear escapes, tracks down his cheek and he gives a dry laugh. “Like I can’t stop crying. Like my life is falling apart.” 

Shanti lets silence fall over them for a moment and Kurt’s grateful, needs the time gather himself again, wipes his cheeks dry again. 

“Blaine gave you a structure for your days,” she says and Kurt nods, sniffs pathetically. 

“I feel like I don’t know how to be _me_ anymore, you know,” he stares at the floor, jigs his leg. “And I guess I’m nervous or scared or something because…” he stops a moment, feels flustered, wonders if this is what Blaine feels like when he can’t find his words because there are a million thoughts in his head at once and he’s having trouble tracking down the ones he needs. “Blaine’s getting so much better, and I’m happy because that’s all I’ve wanted but… I think I lost myself somewhere, in the last two years.” His throat tightens, his words small and wavering. “I just want to be _me_ again.” 

Shanti nods, her face understanding. “You find it easier to focus on Blaine’s needs, than your own needs,” she observes and Kurt gives a tiny nod. “Have you talked about any of this with Blaine?” 

“No,” Kurt answers quickly. “No, I… I know he would feel guilty and… I know how bad he already feels about everything.”

“Okay,” Shanti says, jots something down. “We’ve covered a lot today, and I’d like to go back to when you were talking about how sometimes you feel like you have racing thoughts and trouble breathing. Do you think we could explore that for a little while?” Shanti asks, and Kurt nods. They talk and Kurt manages to avoid having another meltdown, actually listens this time as she talks about triggers, the early stages of anxiety, how to prevent a full blown panic attack. They talk about support systems outside of Blaine, who he can talk to and what he can do and where he can go when he starts to feel this way, and for the first time in a long time Kurt starts to feel a little better. A little more in control. 

“I’d like you to keep a diary that you write in when you start to feel these symptoms,” Shanti says, tucks her pen behind her ear. “To help us begin to identify situations and triggers for these anxiety attacks, so we can come up with a plan more specific for you, okay?” 

Kurt nods, runs his thumb over the edge of the chair, feels the edges of nervousness creeping in. 

“I think with your symptoms and the frequency of your anxiety attacks that you would benefit from a medication to help you manage your anxiety,” Shanti says, introducing the topic slowly. “I can’t prescribe it personally, but I can give you a referral to a doctor that I work with frequently who can go over any questions and concerns you have, and find the best medication for you. How do you feel about that?”

Kurt blinks, his brain struggling to process. He’s never taken any medication aside from the occasional Tylenol and an assortment of vitamins he’s never remembered to take with any sort of regularity and the thought makes him feel unsettled, like there’s actually something wrong with him. Like he’s crazy enough that even his therapist thinks he needs something more than her help, but then again, didn’t he know that already? 

“You don’t have to make a decision right now, but I’ll give you the contact information before you leave so you can think about it, alright?” 

“Okay,” Kurt says and his mouth feels dry, his eyes scratchy. They part and Kurt doesn’t know what else to say, feels a little whiplashed as he agrees to start seeing her every week instead of every month, sets up his next appointment with the secretary outside, the piece of paper with the doctor’s number clutched tightly in his hands as he assures Shanti he’ll stay safe and call someone for help if he feels like he needs it and all the breath is being sucked out of his lungs and he just wants to be outside. 

In the parking lot he breathes, leans against his car and feels drained, heavy, but not in the exhausting way he’s been used to. It’s more like that feeling after a long workout, the sore ache in your muscles that means you’re getting stronger, that maybe not today, but someday soon you’ll be able to take on more, that you’ll be able to hold steady when the world keeps piling obstacles like weights on your shoulders. 

He flexes his legs, shakes out his arms, expands his lungs and feels alive. 

-

A quick stop at the store on the way home to pick up a notebook, small and leather because Kurt’s not putting his most vulnerable moments in cheap, flimsy paper. He’s on his way back to his car when he hears it, a tiny sound that has him looking around, a frown on his face. He can see movement in the bush to his left, thinks that maybe it’s a bird or a squirrel, wonders if it’s hurt, takes a step closer. The noise gets louder, and Kurt crouches, makes out a tiny kitten hiding behind the spiky branches of the shrub. 

He reaches out a hand and the kitten stares at him, it’s face one of apprehension and desperation. It sniffs his stretched out fingers, takes a cautious step forward, gives a pathetic mewl. 

“Well aren’t you the dirtiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Kurt says, debates whether he should actually touch the kitten or not. It’s shaggy fur is matted down with dirt, it’s nose brown with mud, but it’s eyes are wide, and Kurt can tell under all the poof the kitten is thin, and probably very hungry. 

It gives another sad meow at him and he puts his dignity aside and scoops it up, stands and glances around the parking lot to see if he can spot any more kittens, or it’s mother. There’s nothing and the kitten has started licking at his fingers, looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Do you have a home, dirty kitten?” Kurt asks but the kitten goes back to licking his fingers and Kurt starts to worry that pretty soon it might try to see if he’s edible. “No? Do you have a human?” The kitten nips at his fingers and Kurt can’t help but laugh at it’s disgruntled face when it realizes that he is, in fact, not edible. 

He knows he should put it down, that he doesn’t even know what to do with a kitten, but he can’t just leave it, not when it’s so hungry and looks so pathetic. There aren’t any houses close by, and Kurt figures by the state of it’s fur that it hasn’t been loved by anyone for awhile, and he’s not completely heartless. So, with a sigh, he cradles the kitten to his chest, walks back to his car. 

“Do you like dog food?” he asks, setting the kitten down on the passenger seat and fishes out a few kibbles from the bag of Belle’s treats that he keeps in his car. The kitten licks at them before quickly devouring them, looking up at him with wild eyes and mewling for more.

Kurt curses his far too compassionate heart as he walks back into the store and purchases a bag of cat food (salmon, of course, because there’s no way he’s feeding any living creature something flavored like liver and giblets). The kitten cries the whole drive home, pees on the seat, and Kurt’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, because there’s something just so pathetically sad about this poor, abandoned kitten, left with nothing in the world except the kindness of a stranger. 

Once home, he barricades the kitten in the kitchen, both to avoid cat pee on the carpet and Belle getting too excited and accidentally squishing it, and pours it a small bowl of food, which it devours with the ferocity of it’s distant cousin, the lion. Kurt sits on the floor and calls the nearby animal shelters, all of them sounding frantic while explaining to him that they’re overflowing with kittens and don’t have room for any more and Kurt’s gut twists at the thought of the poor kitten getting put to sleep for the sole crime of existing. 

“Well,” he says, scratching the kitten behind it’s ears. “I guess you can stay. Just for the night though. We already have one furry creature living rent free.” The kitten purrs and then bites his fingers. “I expect you to pull your own weight though. Oh god, where are you going to poop?” 

The kitten ignores him, crouches low before shaking it’s butt and launching itself at his shoelaces. 

“You’re a beast,” Kurt says, but smiles anyways. Belle whines from behind the chairs blocking off the kitchen. Kurt looks between them, the kitten now staring with wide eyed amazement at Belle.

“You are a beast aren’t you. Beast. Belle and the Beast,” Kurt smiles, feeling rather clever. “My own little interspecies love story.” 

He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of Beast (as he’s now decided to call the tiny lion, who has lost interest in Belle and resumed chewing on his shoelaces), before sending it to Blaine, following it with the text: _help, I’ve been taken captive!_

A few moments pass before his phone buzzes. 

**To Kurt [3:20 pm]** _IS THAT A KITTEN???!!???!_

Kurt laughs, sending Blaine another picture of the kitten, now attacking the corner of the rug under their sink. 

**To Kurt [3:22 pm]** _PLEASE TELL ME WE’RE KEEPING IT_

 Kurt clutches his phone to his chest, can hear the echo of Blaine’s voice in his head.

**To Blaine [3:22 pm]**   _It’s up for debate_

Kurt looks down at the kitten, who looks back up at him, a strand of carpet hanging from it’s lips, wonders if it’s a coincidence that he found this little ball of fluff when he did, wonders if this kitten was sent to annihilate the sadness that was building inside of him, wonders if the warmth he feels inside his chest whenever he looks at the scraggly, tiny animal is something similar to hope. 

“Well, if we’re keeping you, little Beastie, the first thing you need is a bath.” 


	25. Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wants to feel it, this happiness, wants to surround himself with it, wants to embrace this second chance they’ve been given, wants to stop hiding from shadows, wants to evaporate the ocean dragging him down and walk steady on his own two feet. 
> 
> With Blaine’s hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for anxiety, depression, and discussions of medication
> 
> A million thanks to completelyunabashed for being a wonderful beta and for veggievonglitz for being my cheerleader
> 
> There will be one more part to this LA arc

_June 18_ _ th_ _, 2020_

_Thursday_

“Hello?” 

“Hey there sleepy, did I wake you up?” 

“Wha- uh, no?” 

“Liar.” 

“I’m in… incapable of lying.” 

“Uh huh. Then do tell me what happened to the Waterford crystal vase your mom sent us last year?” 

“Um… it spontaneously combusted?” 

“I can see your nose growing, Blaine Anderson.” 

“From a thousand miles away?” 

“…”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I just… miss you a lot.” 

“I miss you too.  Only four more days.” 

“…It feels like four hundred. But you’re having fun with Cooper, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s been great, we went swimming yesterday and I didn’t drown!”

“Congratulations.”

“And today Lauren is giving me a massage. A real massage, Kurt. I… sorry, I’m rambling.” 

“No, no, I like listening to you talk. I miss your voice.” 

“Mmm. How are things back there?” 

“They’re… They’re okay. I wanted to, uh, to tell you. Something” 

“… Yes?” 

“I, um. Nevermind. It’s not important.” 

“Kurt.”

“Blaine.” 

“What is it? Is every… everything okay?” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry. I just, um, wanted to tell you about our new furry friend.” 

“The kitten?” 

“The little beast who shredded our kitchen rug, you mean?”

“I never liked that rug.” 

“It was vintage.” 

“Who has a vintage kitchen rug anyways?” 

“I will hang up this phone.” 

“No, no I’m sorry. Continue. I’m sorry about the rug.” 

“That’s okay. It was kind of ugly.” 

“So… are we keeping it?” 

“The rug?” 

“No, the kitten.” 

“I don’t know… We already have a dog.” 

“Belle needs a, um. A friend.” 

“It ate your favorite shoes.” 

“No it didn’t.” 

“Fine. It didn’t. But Blaine… can we really take care of two animals? That’s a lot of fur on our clothes. And what if it has rabies?” 

“Kuuuurt. It’s a kitten. A _kitten._ ”

“I am aware of that, Blaine. Thank you.” 

“A poor, defenseless, kitten.”

“Don’t make that face at me.” 

“I’m not making a face.” 

“I can hear it in your voice. Besides, you haven’t even met the kitten yet.”

“Kitten, Kurt. I don’t need to meet it. Kittens are like…”

“Yes?”

“Nevermind. I lost it.” 

“Blaine?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you sound this good in… a long time.” 

“I, um… It’s been better, in the morning I think. Lately.” 

“That’s great, Blaine.”

“Thank you. Um… are you sure everything’s okay? 

“Yeah, actually, I think so.” 

“Kurt…”

“Go get ready for your massage, okay? Say hi to Cooper for me.” 

“I… I will. Call me again soon?

“Promise.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Goodbye.”

“Bye, Blaine.” 

-

Blaine feels silly in the fluffy white bathrobe, sits awkwardly in the room smelling faintly of patchouli and sagebrush. Music plays in the background, similar to the music in the yoga videos that Kurt does, and it makes him feel sleepy, wonders if he just curled up in the chair and fell asleep if Lauren would just let him nap. He doubts it, she’s been very insistent on this massage, promising him he’ll feel like a new man after she’s done with him. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. He’s resorted to nodding and agreeing with whatever Lauren says, something he’s noticed Cooper does as well. 

He wonders if he’s supposed to lay down on the padded table in the middle of the room, if he’s supposed to take off his bathrobe. He’s never had a massage before, not a professional one at least, Kurt’s have always been good enough for him, and he’s a feeling a little nervous, wishes Kurt was here with him. A couple’s massage has always had a certain appeal to it, though he imagines Kurt groaning in pleasure beside him would be enough to make him have a… problem that a thin sheet wouldn’t be able to cover. It’s probably better this way. 

Lauren shows up in a flowing, beaded dress, a dozen bracelets on each wrist, and ushers him onto the table, turns her back while he removes his bathrobe and drapes a soft blanket over himself. He feels stiff, laying on his back, staring straight at the ceiling, oddly exposed. Lauren changes the music to a different track, her bracelets clinking together, tucks her hair behind her ear.

“You look nervous, little bird,” she says, offers him a smile he knows is supposed to be reassuring.

“I am, a little bit,” he admits, not quite sure where to look.

“That’s okay, a lot of people are nervous before their first massage. I promise I’ll go easy on you,” she assures, squirts a generous amount of lotion in her hands. “We’ll start like this and then I’ll have you turn around so I can work on your back, does that sound okay?”

Blaine nods, tries to force himself to relax.

“If something doesn’t feel good, just tell me and I’ll stop. I want this to feel good for you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Blaine manages, meets her eyes before glancing away again. 

“We’ll start simple,” she says, grabs his left hand in hers, begins to gently massage the muscles in his hands. It does feel good, Blaine has to admit, as she works her way up his left arm, lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just listens to the music, the clink of her bracelets. 

“That’s my bad arm,” he says, voice tinged with slight embarrassment when Lauren moves around the table, takes his right hand. 

“What’s bad about it?” she asks, voice gentle, calming. 

“It’s, uh… it gets really stiff. I can’t really move it very well.”

Lauren hums, works at the muscles in his hand with strong fingers. “Let’s see if we can give it a little encouragement. How do you feel about lavender?” 

“Um… neutral but positive?” 

Lauren chuckles, moves over to her station and grabs a small bottle. “Lavender is a natural muscle relaxant,” she explains as she works a few drops of the oil into his palm, up his arm. 

Blaine makes a noise that doesn’t really sound like anything, feels the perpetual tension in his muscles start to melt away, his whole body starting to relax. 

“Feel okay?” 

“I feel gooey.” 

“Gooey?”

Blaine hums, nods. “My muscles are turning to goo.” 

Lauren laughs. “I like you, birdy.” 

“I’m glad, I’m at your mercy,” Blaine says, voice a murmur as she works up to his shoulders, his eyes slipping closed again. She works in silence for awhile, giving careful attention to Blaine’s right arm, loosening every muscle until he’s not sure he could even move if he wanted to. 

“Alright, flip over.” 

Blaine feels a bit like an uncontrolled marionette as he wiggles over onto his stomach, Lauren starting down on his legs, again making sure to spend extra time on Blaine’s right side. 

“You really should look into get getting regular massages,” Lauren says after awhile, working at a knot in his thigh. It should be awkward having his brother’s girlfriend’s hands so close to the most private parts of him, but Blaine feels oddly comfortable, Lauren’s practiced motions putting him completely at ease, and he melts into the table under him, lets Lauren have her way. She is the expert, he figures, she’s knows what she’s doing.

“And I’m not just saying that, you have a lot of tension in your muscles. I really think you’d noticed an improvement in your muscle mobility if you went in every month or so.” 

“Maybe you should move to New York,” Blaine says, voice slightly muffled by the table-hole-thing his face is resting in. 

“Too cold,” Lauren replies, moving up to start working on Blaine’s back. “I don’t look good in hats.” 

“Shame,” Blaine hums, has to bite off a moan as Lauren loosens a knot in his back. 

“I don’t think Cooper would mind though, if he got to see you more,” Lauren says, voice soft. “He misses you a lot, you know.” 

“I know,” Blaine responds, lets out a long exhale.

“He’s been so excited for your visit for months. You make him very happy, Blaine.” 

“I could say the same about you,” Blaine says after a moment, studies the floor under him.

“It’s a different kind of happy,” Lauren says, thumb digging into another knot. “Cooper asked me to marry him, you know.” 

Blaine blinks at the floor, surprised. “He did? When?”

“A few years ago. I said I wasn’t sure and… well, I guess we’ve never gotten around to it again.” 

“You still could,” Blaine says, feels Lauren slow down for a moment. 

“Nah, aren’t you and your man getting married soon? One wedding in the family is enough for the decade.” 

Blaine gives a little laugh and Lauren resumes kneading at his shoulders. 

“Next year I think,” Blaine says, feels that giddy flutter in his stomach when he thinks about _finally_ getting married. “We’re trying to find a venue that’s not booked out for five years and still meets Kurt’s standards.”

“I’m sure wherever you find will be perfect,” Lauren says, her hands working their way up Blaine’s neck. He feels a jolt, pain spikes through his left side and he hisses, tenses. Lauren stops, her hands pulling away.

“Sorry, I…” Blaine tries to apologize, feels the pain ebb away quickly, closes his eyes and breathes for a moment. “I’m still sensitive there sometimes.” 

“Can I?” Lauren starts, her fingers hovering and Blaine gives a cautious nod, trusts her to be careful. “I’ve had a few clients with injuries like yours,” she says, her fingers soft on his neck, working gently to ease the ache and Blaine feels a slight tingling, but no pain. “Everyone is so different, that’s the beauty of the human body.” Her fingers work up into his scalp and Blaine has to stop himself from shivering, her motions releasing an ache from deep inside, something he didn’t even know he was holding in. She ghosts over the scars on the left side of his head, the dip where his skull was put back together, sunken like an unnatural soft spot.

“It’s weird, I know,” Blaine murmurs, tries not to feel self-conscious as Lauren feels the broken eggshells of his head, the undeniable evidence that Blaine is different, that he was pieced back together like Humpty Dumpty, put back into place, but never completely the same. 

“It’s not weird,” Lauren responds, her fingers carding through his hair. “It just shows your strength.” 

Blaine breathes, his throat suddenly tight. 

“And you have a lot of that, little bird.” 

-

Kurt leaves Nora’s office, shuts his boss’s door behind him with a soft click. His hands are still shaking, his heart pitter-pattering in his chest, his mind trying to catch up with what just happened. He walks on autopilot, grabs his bag from his office and makes his way outside, feet leading him towards the Starbucks down the street. Nora had sent him to grab them both coffees and collect his thoughts, with instructions to take as much times as he needs. 

So he slows his pace, fumbles his phone out of his pocket, takes a detour to the park, sits down on a bench and takes a deep breath. He considers calling Blaine, his thumb hovering over the number under his starred contacts, hesitates. There are still too many thing he isn’t sure of, too many conflicting thoughts running through his brain and they’d already talked this morning, he doesn’t want to weigh Blaine down with his own problems. Not yet. 

He settles on a different number, presses his phone against his cheek until a familiar voice answers.

“Kurt?”

“Hey, Dad. Did I… are you busy? I can call back later.”

“Nah, just working on some inventory at the shop. What’s up?”

“Kurt takes a second to breathe, to feel the excitement bubbling up inside him before the words are leaving his lips in a barely understandable rush.

“I got promoted!” He doesn’t even feel embarrassed about how his voice squeaks a little, about how he wiggles in his seat, even as people walk by. 

“You… what?”

“I got promoted,” Kurt repeats, forces himself to talk a little slower. “To creative director. Jacob is retiring and and Nora wants me to take his place. She just told me this morning.” 

“That’s great, Kurt,” Burt says, even though Kurt can tell he doesn’t really understand what he’s talking about. “This is good, right?”

“Dad, this is basically what I’ve wanted since I was fourteen and subscribed to my first issue of _Vogue_. My whole life I’ve…. They wanted me to be in charge, Dad. Me.” 

“You deserve it, Bud. I know you’ve worked hard to earn this.”

“Thank you, Dad.” Kurt pauses again, looks down at one hand, feels the hot June sun beating down on him. “I haven’t accepted yet. I told her I needed to think about it first.”

“Kurt,” Burt says, his voice stern in that loving way only a parent can master. “You can’t turn this down, it’s your dream job, judging from the excitement I just heard.” 

“It’s just…” Kurt sighs. “It would involve a lot more time, I would have meetings and they’d need me to do some traveling and I wouldn’t be able to work from home as much and…”

“And?”

“You know, Dad.” Kurt watches a couple walking their dog through the park, hands linked. “I worry about leaving Blaine alone so much.” 

Silence a moment, then a “huh” from Burt’s end.

“I guess, I just don’t know what to do, and I feel…. I want this job so much, but I feel like I’m being selfish,” Kurt says in an exhale, draws a pattern on the bench with his thumb.

“Kurt, I don’t think you’ve done a single selfish thing in the past two years. Accepting the job you’ve worked this hard for won’t make you a bad person, Bud. In fact, I think you could stand to be a little more selfish sometimes.” 

“Dad…” Kurt starts, falters, feels a little like he’s back in high school listening to his dad dish out his infallible words of wisdom.

“I want you to listen to me for a sec, okay? You’ve given the last two years of your life to Blaine, and I know you don’t see it that way because you love him and I know you’d do anything for him. These past years, devoting your life to taking care of Blaine, it’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. But Blaine’s getting better now, hell, you call me every other week just to tell me about how good he’s doing and never once have I heard you complain or ask for something for yourself. You deserve this, Kurt. Blaine’s going back to work soon, he has friends and family to help him out, and he won’t be alone. Neither of you are ever alone, not while I’m around, you understand?”

Kurt nods, sniffs, mutters a shaky “yeah.” 

“I obviously can’t make you take this job, but I can tell you if this is something that’s going to make you happy, then I know Blaine wouldn’t want you waiting around at home for him.” 

Kurt’s eyes feel damp and he tries to subtly dab at them, clears his throat but doesn’t know what to say.

“You deserve to be happy, Kurt.” 

Kurt gives a shaky laugh, avoids the eyes of those passing by glancing at him curiously. 

“I know, I just… Everything is so different now, I don’t know how to _not_ worry about Blaine with every decision I make.” 

“You guys will work it out, I know you will. And I’ll be damned if I don’t see you follow your dreams, you got it?” 

Kurt laughs again, this time less full of tears, digs his boot into the dirt. 

“Got it.” His lungs expand a little easier now, his back sits a little straighter. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Anytime, kid. I mean it.” 

Kurt smiles; his dad has never really understand what it is that Kurt does for a living, but he’s always been his biggest supporter, even subscribed to Kurt’s magazine for months before Kurt told him he really didn’t have to. His dad’s been there for him when no one else has, when things were so overwhelming and so _hard_ , always knows what to say to make Kurt believe that things will work out, maybe not now, maybe not even tomorrow, but someday they will. And it gives Kurt hope.

“Did I tell you about our new kitten?” he asks, changing the subject, settling back into the park bench and revelling in the sun.

-

That evening, after a dinner of take-out lasagna, after a fast-paced and high-pitched conversation with Rachel, after walking Belle around the block and organizing his sock drawer for the twelfth time this week (this time by colors alphabetically), Kurt sinks into the couch, a wrinkled scrap of paper clutched in his hand, watches Beast attack a catnip filled mouse.

He considers the numbers scrawled on the paper, ten innocent digits, wonders what about them scares him so much. Why he feels so hesitant to call, to set up an appointment like his therapist wants him too, to take that step forward. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable with it, Blaine’s been taking an antidepressant ever since the fall after the attack, when awareness creeped back in and he could barely keep his head above water, when his brain no longer allowed him to regulate his moods like he could before, and Kurt had been a supporter of it then. He knows every side effect, every dosage, everything to watch for, and yet.

Yet. He doesn’t know why it feels so different this time. He’s not the one with brain damage and yet he’s so unable to cope, doesn’t know how to categorize his emotions without them swirling together and multiplying until he can’t even _breathe_ and…

And when Kurt considers at it from the outside, life looks really good, with his promotion, with his expanding furry family, with Blaine going places and ready to teach again and every single day sounding better and better. Kurt wants to _feel_ it, this happiness, wants to surround himself with it, wants to embrace this second chance they’ve been given, wants to stop hiding from shadows, wants to evaporate the ocean dragging him down and walk steady on his own two feet. 

With Blaine’s hand in his.

Tomorrow, he resolves. He’ll call tomorrow. 

And he smiles, pets the kitten, and writes in his journal.

-

The bar is noisy, full of too many people laughing, classic rock pounding from the jukebox, glasses clinking on old wood tables. The taste of alcohol is bitter on Blaine’s tongue. and he honestly can’t remember the last time he had a drink of something not approved for small children. He sits at a table with Cooper and Lauren and Jane, one of Lauren’s good friends, and despite the noise, the way the alcohol makes him feel loose and buzzy, he’s having fun. He feels happy, an excitement rippling through his body, making him bounce a little in his seat. Cooper laughs as he orders them another beer, Lauren and Jane deep in conversation beside them.

There’s a lull in the music, a twinkle in Cooper’s eyes, and Blaine looks at him suspiciously, hands wrapped around his sweating bottle of Blue Moon. 

“What are you…?” Blaine starts, trails off when Cooper can’t hold it in any longer.

“It’s karaoke night, little brother,” he says, looks proud of himself. “And I put your name in fifteen times.”

Blaine shakes his head and laughs, feels oddly free; no one here knows his name, no one knows his story, no one will care if he forgets the words or messes up, everyone too anxious for their own turn to really listen anyways, and it’s his first chance to perform for someone other than Kurt and their dog in over two years. 

Blaine smiles at Cooper, kicks him lightly in the shin. 

“Only if you sing with me, loser.” 

Cooper smiles, takes a swig of his beer and belches.

“Deal.”

 

 _June 19th_  

_Friday_

They’re strolling through the Marilyn Monroe exhibit in the Hollywood Museum, Cooper stopping for the appropriate amount of time at each display, but he’s not really looking, his eyes glancing towards Blaine. He’s been quiet today, despite his enthusiasm last night about the museum, and he lags a few steps behind Cooper, his shoulders weighted. Cooper bites his lip, wants to say something, but he knows how quick Blaine is to get frustrated and angry with his own struggles, has to trust that Blaine will know to ask for help when he needs it. 

They’re nearing the end of the exhibit, Blaine’s eyebrows slightly pinched, and Cooper’s about to suggest they go to the cafe for some lunch, when Blaine reaches a hand out, grabs onto Cooper’s forearm.

“I think I need to sit,” Blaine says, his voice sounding slightly _off_. “To sit. For a min… minute.” 

“Okay,” Cooper says with a nod, glances around and spots a bench near the restrooms just down the hall. “We can sit over there, okay?” 

Blaine nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and Cooper tries to keep his head level as he leads his little brother over to the bench, Blaine’s hand gripping his arm so tight Cooper wonders if he’ll have bruises later. They make it to the bench and Cooper guides Blaine down, Blaine immediately folding and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, elbows digging into his knees. Cooper rests a hand on Blaine’s back, his touch light, just so that Blaine knows he’s there. 

“You okay?” Cooper asks, even though he knows Blaine’s not.

“Headache,” Blaine mutters through a clenched jaw. 

“How bad?” Cooper asks, rubs his thumb on Blaine’s back in a soothing circle. Blaine just makes a tiny noise in his throat, like he wants to answer but the words won’t come. 

“It’s okay,” Cooper tries to soothe, wonders what Kurt would do in a situation like this. “We’ll go home.”

He lets Blaine sit a few more minutes, hopes that maybe the worst will pass before they move again, but Blaine looks more tense with each second and finally Cooper nudges Blaine lightly, guides him to stand. Blaine’s eyes water, his body leaning against Cooper as he leads him out of the museum as quickly as he can, Blaine’s nearly stumbling on the stairs out but Cooper holds him steady. He helps Blaine into the backseat of the car, bundles up a towel to use as a pillow, digs out a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment. They’re too big and look a little ridiculous but Blaine doesn’t protest, just rests his head against the towel and closes his eyes, his fingers wrapped tightly around his seatbelt. 

Cooper drives in silence, makes sure to slow down for every pothole, adjusts the rearview mirror so he can keep an eye on Blaine, the whole way home. 

-

Kurt draws lines around the date in his calendar, feels strangely okay. 

He wants to call up Blaine, to tell him he _did it_ , he made the appointment, he took the leap and now he just has to find his footing again, but he knows he can, with Blaine’s hand in his. 

He waits, knows this is a conversation that should be face to face, knows Blaine’s probably busy, knows there’s only two more days and Blaine will be back, and they’ll have all the time they need to talk about things. 

Two more days. 

He can do this. 

-

It’s late when Cooper hears the noise, half-past eleven and he’s just starting to drift into sleep, a muffled thump and he blinks awake. Lauren’s asleep next to him, her head buried under a pillow, and Cooper lays there confused for a moment, his brain firing back up. Another thump, just outside his door and Cooper sits up quickly, remembers Blaine, Blaine’s here, Blaine had a migraine, Blaine was sleeping all day, Blaine might…

He throws the covers off, slides out of bed, the hardwood floor cool under his feet, slips quietly across the room. The door opens with a creak, the hallway dimly lit by a small nightlight near the bathroom and Cooper can make out a shape where the hall turns into the living room, huddled on the ground.

“Blaine?” the name feels flat in the air, the shape moving slightly. Cooper kneels, the floor hard on his knees, hands hovering, not sure what to do. 

“Hey, Blaine, watcha doing down here?”

Blaine’s back is bent, his knees and hands pressed flat into the ground, his head hanging low, eyes closed. 

“I tripped,” Blaine says, voice quiet, slowly lifts his head and glances at Cooper with heavy eyes. “I wanted…” a pause, Blaine swallows, gives his head a tiny shake. “I was hungry.” 

“Okay,” Cooper says, lets his hand rest on Blaine’s back, draws him in against him. Blaine lets his legs slide out under him, his weight resting against Cooper. “That’s okay. How about I… or, are you hurt?”

Blaine shakes his head, gives a humorless laugh. “Just… embarrassed.” 

Cooper feels Blaine against him, feels the tension in his muscles, the quiver in his shoulders. 

“It’s no biggie,” Cooper tries to reassure, wonders what Kurt would say in this situation, realizes it doesn’t matter what Kurt would say because Kurt isn’t here, it’s up to Cooper and Blaine is his brother and he can make this okay again. “How about we get to the couch, my knees are aching.”

Blaine nods, starts to push himself up from the ground. He falters slightly, hand brushing the wall for support and Cooper helps him up, arm wrapped around his back. 

“You must be getting old,” Blaine murmurs, as they make their way over towards the couch. “I can hear your bones creak.”  

“You shut your mouth,” Cooper says, nudges Blaine’s shoulder with his own. 

“You wish you were limber like me,” Blaine says, lowers himself stiffly onto the couch. Cooper snorts and Blaine smiles softly, but his eyes are downcast, sad. 

“How about some toast?” Cooper suggests and Blaine nods, runs his thumb over the edge of a throw blanket, avoids Cooper’s searching eyes. “Okay,” Cooper mumbles, mostly to himself, heads into the kitchen and loads the toaster with bread. He doesn’t know what Blaine wants on it, considers the jar of extra chunky peanut butter in the cupboard, the strawberry jam in the fridge, the marmalade that Lauren always buys but no one ever eats. He remembers Blaine always loved peanut butter as a kid, remembers him being scolded by their mother after sticking his fingers in the jar. 

Cooper stares at the peanut butter but he doesn’t see it, his eyes unfocused as he remembers Blaine years ago, young and earnest. He remembers Blaine trailing after him with adoring eyes, remembers shutting the door in his face because he was a teenager and didn’t have time for his stupid little brother. He remembers Blaine begging him to play with him, remember giving in and playing Cops and Robbers in the backyard, remember throwing Blaine in huge piles of crunchy fall leaves, remembers how much fun he had, even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

He’s not one to live with regret, he’s always considered the past as something to move on from and not dwell on, but now, making toast for his little brother who’s done nothing except love and give and _try_ so hard, he wishes he could go back to those locked bedroom doors and let Blaine in. He wishes he could be the big brother that Blaine always wanted, not the one who pushed everyone away and left home as soon as he could. 

He shakes his head, clears his thoughts, catches the toast as it pops hot from the toaster, and knows there’s nothing he can do except be here for Blaine now, when it matters.

Toast balanced on a plate, a glass of milk cold in his hand, Cooper makes his way back to the living room, carefully sits down beside Blaine, sets the food on the coffee table in front of them.

“Thank you,” Blaine says, voice quiet as he reaches for a piece of toast, holds it gingerly in his hand and takes a bite. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted peanut butter or jam so I put one on both,” Cooper says, mostly just to fill the silence. 

“It’s great,” Blaine says, takes another bite, reaches for the glass of milk. His hand shakes and milk sloshes over the lip of the cup, Blaine letting out a quiet curse.

“It’s okay,” Cooper says, mops up the small spill with the sleeve of his shirt. “No biggie.” 

Blaine’s eyes are tightly closed, his mouth a thin line. 

“It’s not okay,” he says, shakes his head. “It isn’t.” 

“It’s just a little bit of milk,” Cooper says, keeps his voice soft but he knows this isn’t just about the milk. 

“I…” Blaine starts, blinks his eyes open and looks at Cooper imploringly. “How am I ever going…” A breath. “Ever going to be a teacher again? How…” He stares at his knees, mouth turning down to a frown. 

“How could I ever have kids?” Silence, Cooper can hear his heart beating in his own ears. “I can’t even… I can barely,” he motions to the milk. “I fell going down the… the fucking hallway. How could I ever be trusted with a kid?” 

“Blaine…” Cooper starts and Blaine sniffs, blinks furiously. 

“I wanted to be a dad,” Blaine says when Cooper falters, his voice wavering. “I really did.” 

“You still can, you know,” Cooper says, nudges Blaine’s foot with his own. Blaine blinks, his eyelashes sticking together, eyes damp.

“How?” Blaine asks, pulls his foot away from Coopers. 

“Everyone has shit they have to deal with,” Cooper says, shrugs and tries to catch Blaine’s eye. “So you tripped in the hallways and spilled some milk? That’s not a big deal, Blaine, and you can’t put yourself down because of that.” 

Blaine lets out a long exhale, his face unsure. 

“What about… the migraines and…” he trails off, waves his hand. “The other stuff.”

“That’s what Kurt’s for,” Cooper says, smiles a little. “You weren’t thinking of raising a kid on your own, were you?” 

Blaine shakes his head, bites his lip. 

“You’ll never be on your own, Blaine. Every parent has things they need help with, it’s normal to feel overwhelmed when you have kids. No one will think any less of you if you have to ask for help with something.” 

Blaine’s silent, chews on his lip and stares at his toast. 

“I can’t think of anyone who would be a better dad than you, Blaine. And Kurt, of course.” 

Blaine smiles, glances at Cooper. “Kurt would be a good dad.” 

“Squirt Junior would be lucky have both of you as their dad.” 

“Squirt Junior?” Blaine asks, arches an eyebrow. 

“What? Do you prefer Mini Squirt? Diet Squirt? Squirt 2.0?” 

“How about we just leave the Squirt out of it,” Blaine says, but there’s a smile on his lips. 

“No can do,” Cooper says, nudges Blaine’s foot and this time Blaine kicks back. “Seriously though, Blaine. You’d be a much better father than I ever could be. Don’t be so quick to give up your dreams, okay?” 

“Okay,” Blaine says after a moment, nodding. He picks up his toast and takes a bite, chews quietly for a few bit. “Thank you, Coop.” 

Cooper smiles, pulls Blaine into a hug, Blaine’s arms wrapping tightly around him. 

“Anytime you need some sense talked into you, I’ll be here.” 

Blaine laughs, the sound slightly muffled in Cooper’s shirt. Cooper just holds him tighter, hopes the ground feels a little more solid under his feet. 

 

  _June 20th_

_Saturday_

Kurt wakes up to a pounding head and a mouth as dry as the desert. He groans and feels his bones creak, his muscles cramping. 

“Good morning,” a voice says and he blinks his eyes open, sees Rachel on the chair next to the couch, her hair a mess, her cheeks pink, but she’s smiling. “Drink this.” 

She hands him a cup of water and two Tylenol and he swallows them gratefully, rubs his eyes to clear them of sleep.

“Thanks,” he says and his voice sounds like gravel. “What…”

“Now drink this,” Rachel hands him a second cup, this one hot with steaming coffee and Kurt cups it in his hand. 

“Did we… get drunk last night?” Kurt asks, looks around at the room around him. Someone is on the floor, huddled under a pile of blankets, and he can hear the sounds of someone moving around the kitchen.

Rachel laughs. “Yes, I think we did.” She sips her own coffee with an amused expression and Kurt falls back against the couch.

“I feel like I’m in college again.” 

“Well we had to celebrate your big promotion somehow,” Rachel says and the lump under the blankets groans, turns over. 

“Maybe the cheap wine was a bad idea,” Kurt murmurs, takes another grateful sip of his coffee. 

“It was fun though,” Rachel says. “You had fun.” 

“You’re just saying that because I agreed to sing karaoke with you,” Kurt fires back, smiles at Rachel who nudges him back. He remembers last night, before the wine, calling Rachel and telling her everything, about the appointment about how he’s feeling about the medication, all of it building up inside him with nowhere to go. He remembers how Rachel had come over, had hugged him and ordered him to get dressed, had taken him out to dinner and called their friends and brought over her karaoke machine and declared it a long overdue night for wine and friends. 

And it had been fun, Kurt doesn’t think he’s laughed so much in a long time, hasn’t let himself go so long without worrying about everything, without trying to micromanage every aspect of his life. He needed this, he knows, and he doesn’t know how to tell Rachel how much it means that she knows. 

“I can’t believe you let me go to sleep without washing my face,” Kurt says, looks over at her without lifting his head off the couch. His cheeks hurt from smiling and Rachel winks at him, shrugs her shoulders and drinks her coffee.

A noise comes from under the pile of blankets, a kitten poking its head out, followed by a mop of blonde hair as Janessa emerges, looking thoroughly disgruntled. 

“What was in that wine?” she moans, and Beast licks her nose before attacking her hair. She just watches, rubs her eyes with her hands and pulls the blankets back up over her head, Beast squirming his way under with her. 

“I’m making pancakes,” Lily calls from the kitchen and Janessa makes an undistinguishable noise from under the covers. Kurt laughs, stretches his arms above his head and feels his body start to wake up,   coffee and Tylenol making him feel a little more human, runs his fingers through messy hair. 

He stands up slowly, presses a thankful kiss to Rachel’s forehead, her hand finding his and squeezing, makes his way into the bathroom to wash his face and answer the text waiting for him from Blaine ( _Kurt, did you… drunk text me last night?_ ). He brings a pile of Blaine’s sweats for the girls to wear, helps Lily with the pancakes and nurses Janessa’s hangover and listens to Rachel practicing her lines and while he knows everything isn’t perfect yet, he feels really, ridiculously happy. 

And he wants it to stay.


	26. Stubborn Hearts (and stubborn love): part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe that’s just what love is. It isn’t about being perfect, or knowing exactly what you’re doing, it’s about the unwavering desire to make things better for the one you love, even if it means putting aside your own troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this concludes the four-part LA arc of LS. There will probably only be one or two more chapters to wrap up this whole verse, it's such a bittersweet feeling.
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to completelyunabashed for cheerleading me and giving me confidence and beta-ing for me. 
> 
> Warnings for anxiety, depression, and talk of medication

_June 21st, 2020_ _  
_

_Sunday_

Cooper wakes up with a weight in his heart. He blinks sleep from heavy eyes, rolls out of bed and shuffles into the bathroom. It’s Blaine’s last day in L.A. and while Cooper knows he wasn’t going to stay forever, that he belongs with Kurt, it doesn’t make it any easier. Despite their differences being worked out years ago, Cooper feels like he’s never gotten to bond with his brother like he has this past week, and for the first time he feels like an actual big brother.

He dresses slowly, makes his way to the kitchen to find Blaine already there, stirring something on the stove, a bright smile on his face. 

“Good morning,” Blaine says brightly, motions for Cooper to sit at the small dining table. Cooper does, runs his hands through his hair and yawns. “Aren’t you supposed to be the hottest guy in America or something?” Blaine raises an eyebrow at Cooper before pouring him a mug of coffee and setting it in front of him. 

Cooper snorts. “What are you talking about. Girls love this just-woke-up shit.” 

“Uh huh,” Blaine nods, an amused look on his face. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Have you seen Johnny Depp?” Cooper points out, stirs cream into his coffee. “It’s like that.” 

“You keep telling yourself that, Coop,” Blaine says, portions out two generous servings of scrambled eggs. Cooper laughs but something tugs at him deep inside and he looks down at the table, a sad smile on his lips. 

Blaine sits beside him, his own coffee and eggs in front of him. 

“So what’s the plan today, squirt?” Cooper asks, takes a bite of his eggs and they’re _really_ good, filled with cheese and pepper and sausage and Cooper’s impressed.

“I was thinking we could, uh, go to the beach?” Blaine says, carefully scooping eggs onto his fork. “I know we went already but… it was really nice.” 

“Sure thing,” Cooper agrees and he thinks he’d do about anything that Blaine wanted today, and laying in the sun does sound pretty good. “The beach it is.” 

-

Kurt spends the day cleaning until every inch of their house is spotless. He lectures the kitten and Belle about their shedding habits before filling up a large glass of wine and soaking in the hot tub outside. He watches the sunset and thinks about Blaine, almost 3000 miles away, and smiles, because tomorrow Blaine will be back and the world can finally go forward again. 

 

_June 22_ _ nd_

__Monday_ _

Blaine’s flight is early and they stand bleary eyed at the front of the airport. Cooper’s hands are shoved in his pockets and Blaine clutches the handle of his suitcase, tries to figure out what to say. People rush by them, running for late flights, hugging and crying and marching forward with heads held high. 

“Well,” Cooper says, blinking and looking down. “I’m gonna miss you, little bro.”

Blaine sniffs, wills himself not to cry. “Maybe you should bring Lauren to New York sometime.” 

“Maybe I will,” Cooper says with a small smile, nudges his brother on the shoulder. “After all, there’s going to be a wedding pretty soon, I hear.” 

Blaine laughs a little. “Who said you were invited?” 

Cooper punches Blaine lightly on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. “You better go before you’re late. I think Kurt would murder me if you missed your flight.” 

“That’s probably true,” Blaine says with a nod, wipes at his eyes before stepping back. “Thanks for everything, Coop. I had… this past week was great.”  

Cooper nods, smiles. “Onward, little brother. Starbucks is calling my name and four hundred tons of metal is calling yours.” 

Blaine laughs again, straightens his shoulders and grips his cane in one hand and his suitcase in the other. 

“Bye, Coop.” He turns to leave before they have another chance to get emotional. 

“Don’t forget to watch my show!” Cooper calls behind him and a smile cracks at Blaine’s lips as he follows the arrows to security.

-

Kurt paces, counts down the hours until he can pick Blaine up from the airport. Belle watches him and Beast pounces on Belle but she doesn’t seem to mind, content to stare at Kurt as he walks from one side of the room to the other.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kurt says, before sighing, rescuing Belle’s ear from the kitten and falling dramatically onto the couch. 

Only two hours. 

-

Blaine sits at his gate, sips at the white mocha he’d allowed himself to indulge in during his layover, thinks over the past week. He feels… different, in a way. Taller. A little stronger. His feet feel more firm on the ground, the idea of talking to strangers somehow a little less daunting. He doesn’t know if it was the California air, if it was Cooper’s abundant optimism or Lauren’s steady hands, or if it was simply getting away from home for awhile, finding a new way out of the rut he’d been stuck in. Whatever it was, he feels free, feels _normal_ , like he’s just Blaine again, Blaine who’s getting married, Blaine who’s a teacher, Blaine who loves kids and music and dancing carelessly…

Blaine whose heart beats and lungs expands and blood rushes through veins the same as it always has, and for the first time he begins to realize he’s not just defined by what’s happened to him in the past, but by who he is now, by what he does in the future, by the choices he still has to make. And it’s like a door has opened, a door leading to an infinity of doors, all full of choices and futures and experience he has yet to live and it’s exhilarating. To think that there’s still so much more ahead of him, that the world didn’t stop because of some hateful idiots, that it just waited for him to catch up again and now…

He’s never really considered the future in a broad sense. It’s always been day by day, week by week. Therapy tomorrow, make it through this migraine, a schedule of medications and appointments and long, drawn out hours. It’s been frustrations that never leave him alone, feelings of smothering hopelessness, always so focused on the present that the idea of a future after everything was just… unfathomable. 

But now. Blaine can feel the weight of his injury lessen, the iron grip of a stagnant life leaving him. He knows now that he’s not Blaine the Victim, or Blaine the Brain Injury. He’s just Blaine Anderson, who has a past full of good and bad, full of highs and lows, and a future so vast and inviting it makes him curl his toes with excitement because more than anything he wants to _live_. He has a future that was almost taken away from him but he _made it_ and he’s determined not to waste it. Not anymore. 

-

Kurt bounces on his toes, impatient. He’s in a crowd of people waiting near the doors to the baggage claim where the weary travelers are meant to meet their rides, everyone watching anxiously for the door to open. Blaine had texted him when he had landed and Kurt clutches his phone tightly in his hand. He does a quick once-over of himself, makes sure his clothes haven’t wrinkled with his anxious bouncing, smoothes a hand over his hair. He took an embarrassingly long time to choose what to wear today, and he’s not exactly sure why, but he feels the need to look nice for Blaine today. 

The doors open with the first group of travelers, suitcases clutched in hands and faces weary with long days of travel. Kurt cranes his neck, his view cut off by the crowd, people hugging and laughing and trudging their way through, suitcases and luggage and children in hand. He falls back on his heels, tries to calm his racing heart, gears himself to wait a little longer when he catches a flash of dark, curly hair, his stomach doing an excited flip when Blaine steps out of the crowd, his brow furrowed as he looks around for Kurt.

A laugh escapes Kurt like air from a balloon, too long held in and he makes it to Blaine in a few short steps, Blaine’s face lighting up and arms around each other before they even have a chance to make a sound.

“You made it, oh, I missed you so much,” Kurt says into Blaine’s shoulder, feels the warmth of his skin against his cheek, holds him even tighter. He can feel Blaine chuckle against him, his hand rubbing a soothing rhythm on his back. 

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Kurt pulls away reluctantly, holds Blaine by the shoulders and looks him over. “You’re so _tan_.” 

Blaine laughs, ducks his head. “Cooper had a hard time keeping me away from the beach.” 

“I can see that,” Kurt says, nods appreciatively. Blaine blushes and Kurt can see the tiredness behind his eyes, the lines of his face that indicate an oncoming headache. He takes Blaine’s suitcase in one hand, grabs his hand tightly with the other. “How about we head home?”

“I’d love that,” Blaine answers, giving Kurt’s hand a squeeze and as they leave the airport, Kurt feels like the world has straightened out, just a bit. 

-

Belle greets them at the door, an excited bark escaping her when she sees Blaine, jumps up with excitement. Blaine laughs and scratches behind her ears while Kurt takes his suitcase into the bedroom. He pauses a moment to take a breath, straightens his outfit before heading back to the living room, wonders why his heart won’t stop _racing_ , he’s being silly, Blaine is his fiancé, there’s nothing he should be nervous about. And yet, something feels different about this, something new in the air between them, and Kurt wonders if he isn’t the only one who changed in these ten days apart. 

He hears a noise from the living room, makes his way out to find Blaine collapsed on the couch, the kitten on his chest and Belle resting her head next to him. Beast swats at Blaine’s scarf and Blaine laughs, catching his paw, Beast pulling away and looking utterly offended. 

“I see you’ve already met our little Beast,” Kurt says and Blaine scoots up so that Kurt can slide in next to him. 

“You know, I wasn’t sure about the, uh, the name when you first told me, but,” Blaine swallows, looks over at Kurt. “Now I can see that it fits him very well.” 

Beast turns to pounce on Belle’s head and Belle snorts, looks up at them with eyes that say _I’m tolerating this only for you._ Blaine chuckles, scoops the kitten up in his hand but he wiggles free, escapes to the small cat tower Kurt had bought for him, crawling inside and watching them with wary eyes.

“He’ll warm up to you,” Kurt says, presses a kiss to Blaine’s check. Blaine leans against him, turns to meet Kurt’s lips with his own and Kurt can’t help but groan, something building so tight inside him after so long without feeling Blaine against him. 

“I missed you so much,” Kurt murmurs against Blaine’s lips, falls back into the couch as Blaine turns to press himself on top of Kurt. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine, holds him as close as he can, revels in the feeling of their bodies pressed so close and you’d think these past ten days had lasted a year, everything in him _aches_ for Blaine, Blaine real and solid and _here._

“I missed you too,” Blaine says back, his breath hot on Kurt’s cheek and Kurt arches up, meets Blaine’s lips and pulls him in. It’s messy and rushed and frantic, Kurt’s hands pulling Blaine’s shirt up from where it’s tucked in his pants, feels the hot skin underneath, digs his fingers in. Blaine’s breath hitches and he rolls his hips down against Kurt, his lips kissing down Kurt’s jaw to his neck, each touch making Kurt’s skin tingle. 

“You’re never leaving again,” Kurt says, runs his hands down Blaine’s sides, feels goosebumps under his fingers. 

“Never?” Blaine asks, pulls away to look at Kurt, eyes crinkled with a smile.

“Ever,” Kurt says, kissing Blaine’s lips with emphasis. “Unless I can go with you.” 

Blaine laughs, buries himself in the crook of Kurt’s neck. “I think I can work with that.”

Kurt feels Blaine’s hands slide down, catching in the top of his jeans, already feels a deep ache to have Blaine. Right now. 

“Um, Blaine?” Kurt says against Blaine’s lips, can’t stop the smile forming. 

“Yes?” Blaine asks, blinking down at Kurt. His cheeks are flushed, his hair already a little wild and Kurt has to bite back a groan at how much he’s missed _this_. 

“The dog’s watching us.” Blaine looks over to see Belle staring up at them from the floor, her ears perking up at their attention. Beast’s watching them from his cat tower, a lazy expression on his face and Blaine laughs, loud and abrupt. 

“Shall we take this somewhere else?” He suggests, pulling away and taking Kurt’s hand in his own.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Kurt says, and they can’t get to the bedroom fast enough.

-

Kurt slides out of bed, presses a gentle kiss to Blaine’s forehead. Blaine mumbles into the pillows and Kurt smiles, pulls the covers up to his shoulders before scavenging some articles of clothing off the floor and exiting the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He takes a hot shower, tries to be as quiet as he can, knows Blaine’s exhausted from his trip and needs the extra sleep. 

The ache is less, knowing Blaine is finally home, and Kurt can breathe a little easier, feels a little lighter. He straightens the already clean living room, lowers himself onto the couch with a pillow clutched to his chest. He needs to tell Blaine, Blaine deserves to know what he went through this past week, and with Blaine’s support, Kurt knows he can get through this… whatever it is he’s going through. He just needs to figure out how to tell him.

Later, he decides. He won’t ruin Blaine’s first day back.

Later.

-

Blaine wakes up with that groggy, post-nap feeling, like a haze has drifted through his brain. He wonders if Cooper let him sleep longer than he meant to, if he’s late for anything they have planned, and then he blinks tired eyes open, glances around the room with a frown. He sees the queen bed and royal blue drapes, the dresser in the corner and the padded bench by the closet, a smile slowly pulling at his lips. 

He’s home, with his furry family and the love of his life, in their little house that might not be perfect, but it’s about as close to it as Blaine thinks it could ever be. He rolls out of bed with a stretch and a groan, toes on a pair of slippers Kurt got him ages ago, tucked neatly in the corner, shuffles out into the living room. Kurt’s nowhere to be seen, but the smell of Pine-Sol is thick in the air, the sliding door to the back porch cracked open. Blaine feels a seed of worry begin to sprout in his gut; he knows how Kurt always cleans when he’s worried about something. 

Making his way out sliding door, he’s greeted by Kurt on the  porch swing, chain clasped in his hand, a weary smile on his face. Blaine takes a seat next to him and Kurt lets his head fall onto Blaine’s shoulder. They rock for a moment, neither of them speaking, just watch the sun begin to set, sending streaks of pale pink across the sky above. 

“I’m thinking of changing careers,” Blaine says, interrupting the quiet. Kurt makes a questioning noise, doesn’t move his head from Blaine’s shoulder, his eyes closed.

“Basket weaving. Or bench making. Actually, I think I could make a pretty stellar garbage man,” Blaine says, feels Kurt chuckle against him. 

“Sanitation engineer,” Kurt says, blinks his eyes open and rests a hand on Blaine’s leg. “Not garbage man.” 

“Blaine, the sanitation engineer,” Blaine says, curls his fingers through Kurt’s. “It has a nice ring to it.” 

It’s quiet, for a moment, Belle sniffing at something in the garden, Beast stretched out in the sun, wind rustling through the trees.

“Or I could pursue a life in crime,” Blaine remarks and a laugh escapes Kurt’s lips.

“Please. You made us drive all the way back to the candy store once because you accidentally stole a Snickers bar,” Kurt says, gives Blaine’s hands a squeeze. 

“I don’t know,” Blaine says, squeezing back. “I think California hardened me. I’m a different man.” 

“You are,” Kurt says, voice soft and Blaine bites his lip, looks down at Kurt. He’s looking into their small backyard, a frown gathering between his eyes, a distant look on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” Blaine asks, keeps his voice as calm as he can, even though his thoughts are racing because something has just seemed _off_ since he got home, a sense of unease that gnaws at his gut, a fragility in the way Kurt holds himself, like he’s afraid of something.

Kurt licks his lips, swallows, his fingers tensing in Blaine’s grip.

“You can talk to me, Kurt,” Blaine says, runs his thumb across the dips of Kurt’s knuckles. Kurt sits up, stretches his back and stares at their hands.

“I don’t,” Kurt stops, licks his lips again, looks at Blaine with a helpless expression. “I thought talking would be easy when you got back, but…” a dry laugh. “I think I was wrong.”

“It can be easy, if you want it to be,” Blaine says, searching Kurt’s face. “You always made talking easier for me, even when it was the hard… um, hardest thing I had to do.” He breathes, looks down. “You made so many things easier for me and I… I want to be able to do the same for you. If I can.” 

Blaine immediately feels a little bit stupid, wonders why it’s been so hard for him, since his injury, to convey this to Kurt. He knows he can never repay Kurt for how entirely Kurt was there for him, for how much he helped him, how many breakdowns and outbursts he got him through, how it hurts Blaine a little that when Kurt is hurting he tries to hide it from Blaine, tries to deal with it on his own when Blaine wants nothing more in the world to just _be there_ for Kurt. To feel like this relationship is more than a one way street that only allows them to navigate through Blaine’s problems. 

“You do,” Kurt assures, reaches to touch a hand to Blaine’s cheek, draws his gaze back up. “You help me every day, I just… I’m bad at recognizing my own problems, I think.”

“Did something happen? When I was gone?” Blaine asks after a moment, watches as Kurt stares at Beast, who’s decided to explore the porch, batting at a fallen leaf.

“Nothing extreme, I think…” Kurt draws in a deep breath and when he speaks again his words are tight, wavering. “I realized that I haven’t been dealing with things as well as I thought I was and…” He looks up, blinks furiously, shakes his head. 

“It’s okay,” Blaine says, draws Kurt into him and Kurt clings, his fingers wrapping into the material of Blaine’s shirt, his shoulders shaking with tears he’s trying so desperately to hold in. “Take your time.” 

A moment. Blaine rubs soothing circles on Kurt’s back, feels his shirt growing damp under Kurt’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s voice is thick. “I was so lost without you here and now I feel like I’m overflowing.” 

“I’m right here,” Blaine says, presses a kiss into Kurt’s hair. “I’m here now.” 

“I couldn’t _breathe_ without you,” Kurt says, attempts to dry his face but the tears don’t seem to want to stop and he looks down at his hand, curls his fingers. “I couldn’t remember how to be myself anymore and it scared me and… and no matter what I do all I can think about is _that_ night, like my entire existence revolves around it and I hate it.” His voice cracks, shoulders shake. Blaine feels his heart thud in his chest, feels his fiancé unravel in his arms. 

“I want to move on from all this, I just… we’re getting our lives back now but this stupid _thing_ won’t let me go and I don’t understand why but…” Kurt’s breaths are coming fast now, hitching and wavering and Blaine holds him tighter, blinks back his own tears. “But I feel like I can’t be happy anymore.” 

Kurt looks up at Blaine, eyes wide and red, lashes clumped with tears. “I want to be happy with you, I really do. I want it more than anything.”

Blaine studies the man beside him; Kurt, his fiancé, the love of his life, the infallible anchor that’s held him in place for so long, but even he isn’t immune to the fragility of human nature. To the demons that haunt at night, to the insecurities that hack at your soul, to the fears that stop your breath and make your hands shake. And Blaine realizes this isn’t something new, this is something that Kurt’s been dealing with, something he’s been pushing aside to focus on Blaine, something he’s kept bottled up until it was ready to explode. 

Blaine thinks it’s been a long time since Kurt’s really felt happy. 

“You will be,” Blaine promises, his finger grazing over the Kurt’s engagement ring. “We’ll work at it together.” 

Kurt sniffs, gives a watery smile. “Shanti, um, she wants me to try taking medication for awhile. To help with the anxiety. She gave me some exercises to do and I think they’re helping, a bit.” 

“Good,” Blaine says, nods. “That’s…good. I can help you with them, if you want.” 

He feels awkward, wonders how Kurt is always so at ease when he helps Blaine through his issues, and it occurs to him that maybe he really isn’t, maybe he feels just as lost as Blaine does right now, but he never turns away, he never does anything but offer his support and maybe that’s just what love is. It isn’t about being perfect, or knowing exactly what you’re doing, it’s about the unwavering desire to make things better for the one you love, even if it means putting aside your own troubles. 

“I would like that,” Kurt replies, and his eyes look a little more clear, the last of his tears drying on his cheeks. “I was thinking, if you wanted, that maybe you could come with me to see Shanti? The next time I go? I just feel so silly sometimes, going on my own.” 

“Of course,” Blaine says, tries to put the weight of how much he means it in his words. “Anything you need, okay? I mean it.” 

“Thank you,” Kurt says, gives a shaky laugh. “And here I wasn’t going to break down on your first day back.” 

“It doesn’t matter what day it is,” Blaine says, leans forward to press a kiss to Kurt’s cheeks, still red and a little swollen. “You come first.” 

Kurt kisses him back, this time a gentle touch to the lips.

“I love when you talk dirty,” he says, a smile pulling mischievously at his lips. Blaine pulls back, face aghast. 

“Kurt Hummel, did you just make a sex joke during our very emotional conversation?” 

“I think I did,” Kurt says, gives a real, full laugh, and Blaine doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful than the way Kurt’s eyes crinkle in the corners, the full apple of his cheeks when he smiles.

“I think I love you,” Blaine says, nudges at Kurt’s shoulder with his own. 

“You think?” Kurt asks, raises and eyebrow.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Blaine says, shrugs. Kurt shoves him back, harder this time and Blaine nearly tips out of the porch swing, laughs. Belle runs up to them at the commotion, noses her way in between them, tail wagging. 

“You made our fur baby upset,” Blaine remarks, watches as Kurt scratches Belle’s nose. 

“Your daddy deserved it,” Kurt says to Belle, and Blaine feels a curl in his stomach at the word _daddy_ , bites his lips and decides that’s a conversation for another time. 

“I can think of a few ways to make it up to you,” Blaine says, leans over to press a kiss to Kurt’s jawline, loves the way he feels Kurt suck in a breath under him. 

“Already?” Kurt asks, and Blaine snorts. 

“Kurt, it’s been like… four hours. Do you really have that little confidence in my recovery time?” 

Kurt chuckles. “I just thought… I don’t know what I thought, I guess.” 

But Blaine knows exactly what Kurt thought, about how it used to be hard enough just to get things going once, how they were lucky if he even managed to make it long enough for them both to be satisfied, how being intimate more than once every few weeks used to be considered a good streak. But Blaine’s feeling a bit like his teenaged self, and right now he wants nothing more than Kurt’s body underneath his, wants to make him forget everything that’s making him stressed and upset, even if only for the night.. 

“The night is still young,” Blaine pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, tries not to dwell on the past, focuses on _now_ , Kurt beside him, Kurt who’s exposed his vulnerabilities like raw nerves, who’s trusting Blaine with the most delicate part of himself. And Blaine wants to help him let go, to forget his demons, even if it’s only for the night. 

“That it is,” Kurt murmurs, a hand resting on Blaine’s thigh, eyes fluttering closed as he leans into Blaine, and Blaine knows, no matter what the future holds for them, this is where he belongs. Right here, with Kurt beside him. 


	27. An End (or something even better)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the very end of a story that's been so close to me for over two years. Writing this was such a learning experience for me, and I have been completely humbled and awed by the response this has gotten. A special thanks to every single one of you for reading and sending me such amazing comments, and for making me feel like maybe this little story meant something to so many of you. Thank you.
> 
> And as always, a very huge thanks to Sandy, completelyunabashed, for her amazing beta skills, and to Courtney, andercas, for always listening to me when I ramble away about plot and dialogue and other things that don't make sense.
> 
> It's been great.

_July 22_ _nd_ _, 2017_  

Blaine’s planned and planned and planned. He’s sat up late, watching Kurt sleeping, curled up on the couch beside him, head nuzzled into Blaine lap or his shoulder. Sometimes his feet are draped over Blaine’s lap, a blanket pulled over both of them, a movie playing forgotten in the background. Blaine lightly draws lines over Kurt’s arm, hearts and flowers and music notes, smiling when Kurt sighs, his lips making that little smack that he does when he’s having a good dream.

Blaine’s planned and he needs it to be perfect. Because Kurt is perfect, and he’s so in love and Kurt needs to know how much this means to him. How much he wants this and wants Kurt and wants a life together, just the two of them. He’s already called Burt, stuttered his way through his speech, because getting Burt’s approval just felt _right_. And Burt had given it to him, had laughed and told Blaine he’s already part of the family and it’s about time they do something to make it official. 

He has it all planned out. Tomorrow. He has tickets to _Wicked_ , and after, a romantic dinner at their favorite restaurant. He’s got a song picked out, a speech written and memorized, and there’s no way he’s going to screw up because it’s going to be _perfect_. 

And he’s already nervous, can’t stop looking at Kurt and smiling, their hands linked as they make their way across the park, to the street fair Kurt’s been dying to go to. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Kurt asks, a smile lighting his own face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumps shoulders with Blaine. Blaine shrugs, tries not to think about the ring hidden back at the apartment, bumps shoulders back with Kurt. 

“Nothing.” 

“Why are you smiling so much?” Kurt asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. 

“Am I not allowed to smile anymore?” Blaine asks, voice teasing. Kurt chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Nope, I forbid it.” 

Blaine pouts and Kurt pokes his bottom lip, Blaine snapping at his finger playfully. 

“Remind me why I still love you?” Kurt asks and Blaine’s stomach flips in a way he’d have thought he’d have gotten used to years ago. 

“Because I make you breakfast?” Blaine tries and Kurt narrows his eyes, face serious, before nodding. 

“It helps that you’ve decided clothing is optional while cooking,” Kurt adds, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“The kitchen gets hot!” Blaine exclaims, crossing his arms. “Maybe if you stopped moving the fan onto the porch I wouldn’t be forced to cook naked.” 

“Hmm,” Kurt hums, darting a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. “Maybe that’s why I keep moving the fan to the porch.” 

Blaine side-eyes Kurt before returning the kiss. They turn the corner and everything is a flurry of activity and color and music. Tables line the street, filled with bright assortments of jewelry and clothes and pottery and everything that Blaine could possibly imagine. The air smells sweet of cotton candy and roasted almonds and children run shrieking with joy around them, musicians playing guitars and maracas at every corner. 

Kurt’s face lights up, eyes darting to take everything in, and Blaine knows _this_ is why Kurt moved to New York, a city where everyone can come together and they can walk down the busy street, their fingers intertwined and not worry about anything except how much cash they have leftover from their last ATM visit, or if they really need to add another scarf to their ever-growing collection. It’s times like this that Blaine thinks New York really feels like home. 

Kurt leads Blaine around the market, stopping to examine homemade jewelry more critically than he should, using Blaine as a prop to try scarf and hat combinations, chatting enthusiastically with a few people they recognize from their area. Blaine sneaks off at one point to buy some cotton candy and Kurt steals all of the blue side, laughing when Blaine pouts. They share a kiss in the shade of a tree, their lips sweet and sticky. 

“I think you might be my favorite,” Kurt says when they make their way slowly back through the market, the shadows starting to grow long around them in the setting sun. 

“Your favorite?” Blaine asks, raising his eyebrows and looking at Kurt, his skin glowing in the golden light. 

“Yup,” Kurt says with a nod, reaching to grasp Blaine’s hand, swinging it between them. “My favorite.” 

“Good,” Blaine says thoughtfully. “I think I like being your favorite.” 

They’re at the edge of the market, music and laughter an echo behind them and Kurt pulls Blaine into the park, his smile vibrant. 

“Your lips are blue,” Blaine points out, pokes his finger against Kurt’s bottom lips and Kurt nips at him. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have bought cotton candy then,” Kurt says, still smiling. 

“Maybe I like you with blue lips,” Blaine counters, leans in for a kiss. They linger just a touch, still aware of the crowd around them, but unwilling to let the moment end so soon. It’s been a busy year, their schedules not always matching up, social obligations filling up their empty days and it’s been awhile since they’ve had a day like this, open and free and just them. Blaine only wishes it could last a little longer. 

Kurt pulls back, his eyes darting over Blaine’s face, reaches to brush a strand of hair off Blaine’s forehead. 

“Marry me,” Kurt whispers, voice completely serious and Blaine feels something like panic drop in his stomach. 

“What?” The word falls out of Blaine’s lips and he takes a step back, acutely aware of the ring nestled in his underwear drawer. 

“Marry me?” Kurt repeats, shuffles his feet. “I mean, I know this isn’t very romantic and it’s terribly unplanned but…” he pauses, smiles. “But it seems right. I want you to marry me. Pretty please?” 

Blaine gapes, knows he looks silly but he can’t help it, he can’t believe it, all his careful planning and secrets and this is how his proposal gets spoiled? By Kurt asking first? 

“No,” Blaine starts before he realizes how that sounds and snaps his mouth shut, Kurt’s smile falling. 

“No?” He echoes, eyes searching Blaine’s face, misinterpreting his panic. “Okay… I guess I just thought, after six years…” 

“No,” Blaine rushes to repeat, steps forward and grabs Kurt’s hands in his, his grip tight. “No, that’s not what I meant.” 

Kurt draws his hands away, puts them firmly on his hips and tilts his head. “Then please enlighten me on what else _no_ could mean?” 

“It’s just…” Blaine throws his hands up helplessly, shrugs and looks pleadingly at Kurt. “I was going to propose to you. Tomorrow. I have a ring and everything.” 

Now it’s Kurt’s turn for his mouth to drop open, his eyes blink like he’s trying to understand what Blaine’s saying. 

“I got tickets to _Wicked_ and your favorite restaurant,” Blaine says meekly, feeling a bit like an idiot. He should have just asked, weeks ago, _months_ ago, instead of spending all this time agonizing about it being perfect. Because, really, when do things ever go the way he expects them to? 

“Oh.” Kurt says, licks his lip and steps closer to Blaine. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Blaine says, looks down, cheeks burning. 

“I see.” There’s a hand on his face, gentle, lifting it until he can see Kurt’s face. “You’ve been planning this for awhile, haven’t you?” 

Blaine nods, feeling rather pathetic. 

“I bet it was a really romantic plan,” Kurt continues, lips twitching into a smile. “Very thought out. A sweep-me-off-my-feet plan.” He leans forward, presses his lips to Blaine’s, the warm summer wind rustling their hair. 

“It was,” Blaine breathes against Kurt’s lips, his hand slipping into Kurt’s. 

“And I just ruined it,” Kurt states, and a laugh bubbles in Blaine’s chest, shakes his shoulders. Kurt chuckles, draws Blaine into his arms, Blaine’s head falling against Kurt’s shoulder.

“Didn’t ruin it,” he murmurs, nuzzles into the warmth of Kurt before drawing back. “Just expedited it.” 

“At least we’re on the same page?” Kurt offers and they both dissolve into giggles. Kurt tugs Blaine’s hand, and they start slowly walking back towards their apartment. 

“I promise I’ll forget everything,” Kurt says, nudging his shoulder against Blaine. “I’ll act totally surprised.” 

He presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek, lingering to whisper in his ear. “And I promise I’ll say yes.” 

And really, Blaine thinks, this could have gone a lot worse.

(He knows, with Kurt’s hand in his, he’s ready for forever)

 

_August 3rd_ _, 2020_

Kurt opens the door, exhausted after a long day at work, only to be shoved against the wall, something warm and solid against him. Something warm and solid and alive, his tired brain tells him, with curly hair and soft lips pressing firmly to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. 

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, his bag falling to the floor as his hands reach to grab Blaine’s waist, holds him firm. “Blaine, what…”

“Shhh,” Blaine cuts him off, his lips finding Kurt’s, swallowing anything Kurt was planning on saying. And Kurt lets him, lets Blaine kiss him with an urgency he doesn’t really understand, lets Blaine grip his shoulders tight, fingers crumpling the material of his shirt. They’ve been exploring more lately, Blaine finding some confidence in intimacy, and Kurt figures this spontaneity is just Blaine finding his footing.

Until Blaine pulls back slightly and Kurt sees red rimmed eyes, feels the tremor in Blaine’s hands, and he knows something is wrong, Blaine’s pressing too hard, his lips too urgent, a desperation in his movements. Kurt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know if there’s anything he could say right now, just lets his arms wrap around Blaine, pulls him in, lets Blaine’s head tuck into the curve of his neck. Blaine stills, his lungs expanding with a shaky breath, his body sinking into Kurt’s. 

“It’s okay,” Kurt whispers after a moment, hands strong on Blaine’s back. “Just breathe.”

Blaine does for a moment, Kurt’s skin tingling with the heat of it, his hand running a soothing circle on Blaine’s back. Then Blaine nuzzles, lips pressing soft to Kurt’s neck, and Kurt can’t help but smile a little. He slides his hand from Blaine’s back, nudges his fingers just under Blaine’s jaw, lifts his lips to meet his own, a gentle kiss. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Blaine says, voice thick like he’d been crying. 

“I’m glad to be home,” Kurt says after another kiss, pulls back slightly to get a better look at his fiancé. “Do you maybe want to talk about what’s going on?” 

Blaine looks down, chews at his lip and Kurt thinks he looks tired, the week too long for both of them. 

“How about I put my stuff down and you start some water for tea and then we’ll talk?” Kurt suggests at the hesitation, and Blaine nods, cheeks tinging red.

“You don’t…” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “Never mind.”  

He turns to move to the kitchen, limping on his bad leg more than he has been lately, something defeated in the way he holds himself. Kurt sighs, closes his eyes before picking up his briefcase and making his way back to the bedroom. A photo album is open on the bed, the sheets an unmade jumble, the closet door wide open and laundry half folded on the bench. 

Kurt sets his briefcase down in the corner, toes off his shoes and gathers up some of the laundry, folds it neatly before placing it back on the bench. They don’t need to be put away right now, but he’ll be damned if he has to wear wrinkly clothes for the next two weeks. He changes into a pair of lounging pants and a light shirt, the residual heat of summer still heavy in the house, straightens the sheets as best as he can. The photo album begins to slip and Kurt catches it just before it can fall to the ground. It’s not particularly heavy, the cover a deep red, and something clenches uncomfortably in Kurt’s gut. He’d started this when Blaine was in the hospital; he’d needed an outlet, his hands always needing to do _something_ , his brain never turning off and it had been almost therapeutic. Going through old pictures, picking out his favorite memories from high school, college. From vacations and nights out and lazy days spent in the park. From holidays and family reunions, a handful of pictures pasted in the book with tickets and reminders of everything they used to have. 

Everything they’d lost. 

The pages turn, the sound of stiff paper rustling under Kurt’s fingers, the pictures turning from the happy memories to the trying ones. A copy of Blaine’s brain scan, a picture they’d given him of the injury. It had been helpful at the time, a way for Kurt to process, to think of everything in an organized, clinical way. They’d taken a picture when Blaine had woken up, leaning against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt feels his breath catch, runs his finger over the edge where photo meets paper. He’d forgotten how much Blaine’s changed since then, the Blaine in the picture barely recognizable as the man he’d come home to today. 

There are a few more pictures, a few more pamphlets from the doctors and social workers, a picture of Janessa and Olivia, a _we’ll miss you_ card signed by the nurses when Blaine had been moved to the neuro hospital and Kurt glances at them before slowly closing the book, holding it against his chest. It’s not like he’d been hiding it from Blaine, it’s not like he thought Blaine couldn’t handle it, or that he was ashamed of it, he’d just… never seen the need to bring it up. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a scrapbook of a difficult time, a way to organize his muddled thoughts. 

But to Blaine, he can’t imagine what he must be feeling. He knows Blaine’s never seen the pictures of him in the hospital, hasn’t even seen the scan of his brain at it’s worst, knows he barely even remembers what happened before he was discharged home. 

The sound of a kettle screaming breaks through Kurt’s thoughts and he makes his way back into the living room, sees Blaine carefully pouring hot water into two mugs. Blaine looks up, his eyes darting from the book in Kurt’s arms back up to his face, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I made you chamomile,” Blaine says, pushes the mug toward Kurt. 

“Thank you,” Kurt says, carefully takes the handle and tries not to burn himself. Blaine holds his own cup and they hesitate. 

“Table?” Kurt asks and Blaine nods, walks the short distance to the table, settles himself into a chair. It’s silent for a moment, Blaine blowing on his tea, the setting sun illuminating the room in golden light.

“Blaine, I didn’t mean…” Kurt starts but Blaine holds up a hand, cuts him off.

“I’m not upset,” he says, and Kurt can hear the honesty in his words. “I’m not… mad, about the pictures. I promise.” 

“Okay,” Kurt says, takes a tiny sip of tea and frowns when he burns his tongue. 

“I just want this to stop _owning_ me,” Blaine says, voice quiet, eyes fixed on the table. “One day I feel like I’m over it and ready to move… to move on and then the next I…” He falters, his fingers curling around his cup before pulling away from the heat. 

“I’m tired of this always following us and…” a breathe, a pause and Blaine sits up straighter. “I feel like we’ve talked this to death, and we always talk about how it’s going to get better and how we’re stronger but… but I don’t feel that way and most of the time…” 

Kurt nods, encourages Blaine to go on, impressed that Blaine’s getting his thoughts out so clearly. 

“Most of the time I feel like a small piece of the person I was before. Like an echo.” 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, reaches out to grab Blaine’s hand in his own. 

“And I can’t make my brain stop telling me that you deserve someone better than me, that maybe I wasn’t supposed to live through this and…”

“None of that is true,” Kurt says when Blaine pauses, squeezes his hand tight. 

“I know,” Blaine says, gives a shaky laugh, his eyes starting to shine with tears. “I know and I want to just be _done_ with it and, um, I want to set a date. For the wedding.” 

Kurt blinks, tries to catch up with the turn in conversation.

“A date?” 

“I’d like… if it’s okay with you… April 22nd.” 

Kurt stares at Blaine for a moment. 

“The day of the attack?”

Blaine nods, looks nervous. 

“I understand if you don’t…if you don’t want to but I just thought… I don’t want that day to define us anymore and I thought if we turned it into something good instead maybe… maybe it wouldn’t drag us down so much.”

Kurt bites his lip, feels a lump growing in his throat. 

“We don’t… I understand,” Blaine says quietly. “I just thought we could make something so hateful into something happy instead. That we could be done with these reminders hanging over us.” 

Kurt sucks in a breath, feels a tear overflow and he wipes it from his cheek. 

“It was just an idea, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, his jaw clenching. “It was silly, I’m thinking too much.” 

Kurt shakes his head, pushes his tea aside to draw both of Blaine’s hands into his. 

“It’s not silly,” Kurt says, tries to catch Blaine’s gaze. “I’m just a little overwhelmed, I think.”

Blaine’s eyes search Kurt’s, his face so open, so hopeful, so determined and Kurt gives a slow nod.

“April 22nd,” he says, tests the words out on his tongue. A date that had always loomed like a dark cloud in front of them, a date that even the slightest mention of was enough to make his heart race and his stomach churn. A date that had symbolized all the pain and discrimination and suffering they’ve ever had to endure.

A date that could mean something completely different. 

“I’ve always wanted a spring wedding,” Kurt says, laughs a little and already he feels the weight lifting, just a little, but even the smallest reprieve gives him more room to breathe.

“We don’t have to set it in stone,” Blaine says, his face serious but his lips start to twitch into a smile.

“I think I like it,” Kurt says with a determined nod. “I like the idea of turning something awful into something beautiful. It’s very symbolic.” 

Blaine smiles, his eyes scrunching with it. “So symbolic it will make all our friends groan.” 

“Probably,” Kurt agrees, leans back in his seat. “A spring wedding. That’s barely eight months away.” 

“I guess we’ll be busy,” Blaine says, knocks his foot against Kurt’s playfully. 

“Good thing I’ve been planning our wedding since the day after we met,” Kurt says with a wink and Blaine laughs, shakes his head in mock disdain. 

And Kurt knows this won’t fix everything, there will still be memories that hang over them, there will always be demons for them to work through, but feels a warmth spreading through him, at the knowledge that the bad will never take over the good. 

That they will always come out on top. 

 

_September 9th_ _, 2020_

There are cupcakes in the teacher’s lounge when Blaine gets to work, a small sign that says _Welcome Back Blaine!_ in cheesy yellow word art that makes Blaine chuckle and shake his head. He sets his bag down and runs his thumb over the sign, jumps when the door swings open. 

“We actually have a much more thoughtful welcome back party planned for you on Friday,” a voice says and Blaine turns to see Lucille, the Principle, standing near the doorway, a wide smile on her face.

“This is more than enough,” Blaine says, tries to push down the knot of anxiety growing inside him. “I’m just happy to be back.” 

“We’re all very happy to have you back,” she says, her eyes glancing to the cane in his hand, and Blaine clutches it self-consciously, knows she means nothing by it but he’s just so _nervous_ , it’s his first day back at work in two years and despite how anxious he was to come back here, he feels out of place, unsure. 

“I was just going to check my box and meet Abbi in the music room,” Blaine says, motions towards the mail slot that has his name on it. “I think that’s where she said to meet.” 

He can hear the sounds of kids racing down the hall, a teacher calling at them to stop running, the chatter of a day beginning. The door swings open and Matt and Britta, both second grade teachers, walk in, stopping suddenly. 

“Blaine?” Britta says, her voice high with surprise. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you would be back this year!”

“Hi, Britta,” Blaine greets as she gives him a quick hug. “Hey, Matt.” 

Matt nods back. “It’s good to see you back,” he says, his smile genuine and Blaine feels the knot loosen slightly with the comfort of familiar faces. 

“You look so good,” Britta says, gives his arm a quick squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re back, I know the kids really missed you.”

Blaine feels his cheeks growing hot as he blushes. 

“Thank you, I’m excited to be back. A little nervous, but excited.”

“You’ll do great,” Lucille chimes in as she pours herself a cup from the coffee maker that always smells like it’s been left on too long. “Remember, it is the first day of school so the kids have absolutely no expectations.” 

“The first day is either the best or worst day of the year,” Matt says seriously, shoves his paper sack lunch in the fridge. 

“Let’s hope for the best,” Blaine says with a smile, feels a little more ready for the day than he had before.

-

The music room is mostly empty when Blaine enters, a single inhabitant hunched over the teacher’s desk in the back. 

“Hi,” Blaine says, can’t help but feel like he’s intruding. “This spot taken?” He motions to the second chair pulled up to the desk. Abbi looks up, a wide smile parting her lips. 

“Blaine!” she exclaimed, standing and wrapping Blaine in a hug. 

“Abbi,” Blaine greets into her shoulder. “It’s great to see you again.”

“I’m so excited to teach with you this year,” Abbi says, voice rich with the accent of her home country. At six foot one, with hair adding another four inches, Abbi has a commanding presence that the kids seem to both fear and admire. She had come to New York for college from Nigeria, had been Blaine’s student teacher the year before the attack, afterwards serving as a reliable substitute teacher whom he often kept in contact with. Contact that had stopped after the attack, and when he heard she had taken over his position in his absence, he hadn’t felt anything except happiness for her. 

“Still as short as ever, I see,” Abbi pulls back and looks Blaine over. Blaine laughs, shakes his head.

“The one things that hasn’t changed,” he says, leans slightly on his cane, his bad leg beginning to ache. 

“You’re still devilishly handsome,” Abbi says with a wink. 

“And you still have your sense of humor,” Blaine says back, sets his bag down by the desk, takes a seat in the extra chair. Abbi returns to her own seat, raises an eyebrow at Blaine.

“My wit keeps me strong,” she says, organizes some papers on her desk. 

“I know we emailed a bit,” Blaine says, looks at the desk, his old desk, arranged in a startling different way from when he taught here. “And you know I’m just…um, just doing half days for now, and I’m not, uh, not…” the sentence flies from his head and he puffs a breath, closes his eyes, steals himself to try again. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, he knew he’d have to fight for this, and he’s not going to let himself get upset over one little slip.

“I’m not here to try and take this job back from you,” he manages, regaining a bit of his footing. Abbi furrows her brow in confusion.

“I didn’t think that you were,” Abbi says, resting her hand neatly on her lap, looking at Blaine seriously. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through the past few years and I was so excited to hear you were coming back this year. I am more than happy to share this job with you, Blaine, and I think we’re going to make a great team.”

Blaine offers her a smile, unsure of what to say. 

“And besides,” Abbi starts, looks down at her lap, “I’m going back home to Abuja at the end of the school year. So the job will be yours again, if you want it.”

“Abbi…” Blaine starts, and Abbi looks back up at him and smiles.

“My sisters are growing up and I miss my family.” She shrugs, like the decision was that simple.

“Well, we’ll have to make sure this year is a special one,” Blaine says, still not quite sure what to do with the information. “So you can remember us crazy Americans fondly.” 

Abbi snorts, her voice amused. “Something like that.” 

Silence, for a moment, Blaine presses his palms into his knees. 

“You let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Abbi says slowly, carefully. “If you ever need to step out or need a break or anything, okay?” 

Blaine forces a strained smile. “Thank you.” He knows it’s not going to be the same as before, he’s not even the same person as before, there’s no way he’s going to slip back into his role as a teacher as effortlessly as before, there’s no way he can manage this _without_ help, but it’s still frustrating, rubs at him like a sandpaper reminder of everything he can’t do anymore. 

But he pushes it aside because there’s nothing he can do about it, this is what’s real, and he’s working to be okay with it. 

“So what do you have in mind for the year?” he asks, his smile more genuine, the dark thoughts a barely lingering echo in the back of his mind. 

“I was planning on having the kids explore music from around the world, with a section of each at the winter concert?” Abbi says, looking at Blaine like she’s gauging his reaction. And Blaine fumbles to open his bag, pulls out music books, feels excitement bubbling up inside of him, because he’s doing this, he’s getting his life back, he’s going to be a teacher again.

And he’s ready.

-

They don’t have a class the first hour of the day, and they spend it outlining ideas for the year, going over lesson plans and music and organizing the room for the day. Abbi gets them some weak coffee from the lounge and proceeds to complain about it, Blaine laughing and agreeing with her. 

They teach first grade first, kids that Blaine doesn’t recognize filing through the door. They don’t look interested when Abbi introduces them, only perking up a little when she teaches them how to pronounces her last name, the room filled with tiny mouths fumbling over “Chedjou” in a way that makes back smile. Their attention is mostly captured by the instruments around the room, by the posters of famous musicians on the walls, by the window with sunlight streaming through. 

Abbi has them talk about all the different instruments they know, has them mimic the sounds they make and soon the kids are giggling while pretending to be cellos, french horns, flutes. Blaine watches, still feels a little reserved and nervous, but he smiles when Abbi looks at him, gives her a small thumbs up. 

He drags a stool to the front after the first graders leave, his leg too sore to keep standing on it, and Abbi mimics him, pulling up her own stool until they’re sitting side by side. Blaine won’t admit it, but he’s already feeling exhausted, the stress of the day wearing him down. But he only has two more classes and then he’s done for the day and he’s determined to make it through. 

The second graders are next, the class as relatively uneventful as the first. It’s when the fifth graders are up that Blaine nervously bounces a knee as familiar faces stroll into the room, the boys shoving each other playfully, the girls grouped together. Blaine recognizes most of them, though is memory for names is not what it used to be, and he waves at a girl who looks over at him, her eyes widening. 

“Mr. A!” she exclaims, quite loudly, and everyone turns to looks, excited chattering starting up. And then the kids are around them, a few girls wrapping him in cautious hugs, a million questions directed at him, one boy to his side saying “wait, I thought you died.” 

Blaine laughs, he can’t help it, hugs the girls back and sends a wink to the confused boy. 

“It’s nice to see you guys too,” he says, Abbi ushering them all back to their spots. 

“I didn’t die,” Blaine continues, once their seated and the questions start up again, “as you can tell.” Quiet laughter a few of the students looking embarrassed and surprised. 

“You were hit in the head, right?” A girl says, and Blaine tries really hard to remember her name… something that started with a B he thinks, or was it a P? 

“Yes,” he nods, and he can see the students attention peaking with interest, like he’s going to give them all the details. “And it took me a little while to recover from it, but Miss Chedjou and I are going to work with you guys together this year.”

Several of the kids nod, one boy raising his hand. 

“What was it like?” he asks, and Blaine can tell he has everyone’s attention, twenty sets of eyes all on him. 

He glances at Abbi, who looks like she’s ready to change the subject if he needs, before looking down at his hands and back at the kids. 

“It was pretty difficult,” he says, “and I’m still not a hundred percent better, but it helped knowing I had you guys to come back and teach.” 

Some of the girls sigh, and Blaine remembers Kurt telling him it was pretty obvious the majority of the female students in his class had a crush on him, so he gives Abbi a little nod, doesn’t want to ignore the subject, but doesn’t want to dwell on it either.

She takes over, gets the kids to divide into groups and talk about what they remember from last year, Blaine a little more involved than last time, but he can tell the kids are still bursting with questions. He answers a few here and there, tries to keep the kids focused on what they’re doing, but he finds he doesn’t really mind, it’s only natural for kids to be curious about things like this, and as long as they’re not being mean about it, he doesn’t see the harm in answering questions. 

It’s when class is over and the kids are filing out, excited for lunch and recess, when a girl, Clara, Blaine remembers from introductions, comes up to him and smiles shyly, gives him another hug and says, “You’re my favorite teacher, Mr. A,” that Blaine finally gets emotional, eyes misting and he pats her back, thanks her and tells her she better get to lunch before all the good food is gone. 

“They missed you,” Abbi says and Blaine gives a shaky laugh, turns around to compose himself for a minute. 

“I missed them,” he replies after he’s gotten himself mostly back under control, turns back to see Abbi looking at him fondly.

“That wasn’t such a bad first day back, was it?” 

Blaine shakes his head, smooths his hands down the front of his sweater.

“It was great,” he says and means it. He’s exhausted to the bone, feels like he could sleep for years but he’s excited also, knows now that he can do this, that he can be good at this, that he hasn’t lost everything. For the first time, he feels like he’s really getting his life back. 

-

Kurt has a myriad of plans for tonight, to celebrate Blaine’s first day back at work. He has champagne in the back seat, a bouquet of flowers and sushi from Blaine’s favorite restaurant. He has colorful bubbles for the hot tub, music queued up on his iPod on the back porch, a bottle of lube and some of their favorite toys carefully hidden in the bedside table. 

He has a million plans and all of them leave his mind when he gets home shortly after six, the house quiet and warm. Belle greets him at the door, wagging her tail but running back to the living room before Kurt can even get his shoes off. He follows her once he’s in his socks, can hear the sound of gentle snoring, sets the champagne and sushi on the kitchen counter before making his way into the living room, flowers in hand.

Blaine’s sprawled on the couch, music books on the coffee table, Beast curled up in a tiny ball on his chest, his mouth open as he sleeps. A smile pulls at Kurt’s lips and he straightens up the mess, Beast looking up at him with the sleepy, mildly-interested eyes that only cats have before he tucks his head back under a paw. Belle’s curled up on the floor next to the couch, her ears perking when Kurt hums quietly, tucks the flowers into Blaine’s side before following him into the bedroom where Kurt changes from his stiff, unyielding work clothes into some loose sweats and a t-shirt. 

He lets Belle out into the back yard, does some stretches, puts the sushi in the fridge, watches as Blaine sleeps on. The flowers are still tucked under his arm, Beast’s paw stretched out to touch his chin and it pulls at Kurt’s heart, the sight so adorable he can’t help but take a quick picture on his phone before leaning forward, pressing a soft kiss to Blaine’s forehead, running his fingers through his curls. Blaine stirs, smacks his lips and opens on eye, his lips turning down.

He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like Kurt’s name, and Kurt kisses him once more, strokes his finger over Blaine’s cheek. 

“Wake up, sleepy head,” he says, Blaine grumbling in response. “You need to be able to sleep tonight.” 

“Sleep forever,” Blaine murmurs, turning over before Beast bolts off his chest, flowers crinkling against him. That gets Blaine to open his eyes the rest of the way, mouth widening in a loud yawn as he blearily takes in what’s happening around him. 

“What’re the flowers for?” he asks once he’s pushed himself up, shirt rumpled and hair a mess. 

“To celebrate your first day back at work,” Kurt responds, flopping onto the couch next to him. “It went well I hope?”

Blaine nods, thumbs the petal of a rose, a smile on his lips. 

“It went really well,” he says, lets his head fall against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt can feel the exhaustion in him, knows today was a long day for him, but he feels so happy and relieved that it was a good day, he knows not every day will be, and he just wants so much for Blaine to succeed, for Blaine to feel good about things again. He deserves this, so much, deserves to be happy and conquer the challenges before him. He deserves flowers and sushi every day, Kurt thinks, presses a kiss to to top of Blaine’s head, feels Blaine hum against him. 

“Thanks for the flowers,” Blaine says, voice soft and Kurt can tell he’s not going to last long tonight.

“You’re welcome,” he says back, his fingers intertwining with Blaine’s. “We’ll have a bigger celebration soon, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Blaine responds, already drifting back to sleep.

Kurt smiles. 

 

_November 7th_ _, 2020_

There’s a box, shoved in the top corner of the closet, covered in dust. Kurt stretches up onto his tiptoes, grasps at the box with fingers that barely reach, slides it off the shelf. Dust plumes in the air and Kurt sneezes, makes a disgusted face and vows to deep clean more than once a year. He sets the shoebox on the floor and finishes dusting the closet, tries to organize the scattered papers that have been building up; magazines and old designs that were tossed in the closet of the study with the intent to be organized later, something that hasn’t happened until now. 

Kurt can still hear the excited echoing of Janessa over the phone, the way she’d barely been able to feign a normal conversation before shouting “I’m pregnant!” He’s excited, his brain already racing with plans for baby showers and gifts and fashionable maternity clothing, but there’s a weird knot in his gut, something he can’t quite explain. He stands in the study, his fingers itching to clean and rearrange and when he steps back and squints his eyes he thinks that yellow would make a really good color for a nursery.

“Stop,” he says to the empty room, shakes his head. They’re in the midst of planning a wedding, Blaine’s still getting into the swing of work, Kurt’s adjusting to the new schedule of his promotion, things are _busy_ and there’s no time to be thinking such things. And he’s not sure if Blaine even wants kids anymore, they’d talked about it a long time ago but that was before… everything. Before their whole lives changed and they’ve spent so long getting through the _now_ that they haven’t really talked about the future. 

 _It’ll happen_ , Kurt thinks, bites his lip against a smile, _we have time_. 

He turns to leave, bumps his foot against the old shoebox, picks it up and carries it with him to the living room. It’s smooth from years of being ignored, and Kurt’s curious, can’t remember why this shoebox was shoved in the corner of the closet, wonders if someone put it there when they moved in and Kurt never really paid attention. He didn’t pay attention to many things, then.

He discards the lid on the coffee table, fingers hovering over the open box. There are letters inside, and it sparks at Kurt’s memory, the silly little notes he and Blaine used to write each other. He’d had no idea that Blaine had kept them all. _Of course he would_ , Kurt tells himself, shaking his head. Blaine was always one for keeping these sorts of things; Kurt remembers teasing him years ago when he’d first learned about about his Memory Box, but now he’s glad, feels like he’s stumbled across a long-forgotten treasure.

_Sitting in econ, surprise surprise. I swear, this class will literally be the death of me. And my prof’s dress looks like that carpet bag we saw at the flea market last week… it’s horrible! I can feel my soul leaving my body… I can’t… go… on…_

_Oh, you just texted me that you’re making carrot cake for dessert tonight. I take it back! Soul reinvigorated! It’s a miracle! …_

The letter goes on and Kurt laughs, remembers Blaine leaving these notes for him in the most random places; he’d find them on the subway, waiting in line for coffee, during a much needed study break and it always made things seem a little more bearable, even during the most stressful weeks. He’d always insisted Kurt put them in the memory box, had told Kurt that someday they’d read through them again and be glad. Turns out Blaine was right.

Kurt reads through a few more letters, some from Blaine and few from him, all of them silly and unimportant and Kurt thinks it’s kind of amazing how something they’d barely put any thought into can mean so much now. 

Sifting through the box reveals a few ticket stubs from the Broadway shows they’d saved up to see on special occasions, programs from some of Rachel’s shows, a dried flower that Kurt doesn’t recognize, but figures it was from something important. His fingers brush over the edges of a DVD and he picks it up carefully, turns it over with a frown. _For Kurt_ is written in blue sharpie on the top, and Kurt honestly can’t remember Blaine ever making him a DVD that wasn’t a bootlegged Broadway recording. He turns the TV on, making sure the volume isn’t too loud. Blaine is napping in their room, a long week at work leading to a weekend of headaches, before slipping the disk into their DVD player. 

It starts with a shaky view of their old apartment, the image going in and out of focus, someone mumbling under their voice as they try and adjust the settings. The screen spins, the camera turning around until Blaine’s face fills the TV,  his lips turned up into a wide smile, his hair wildly curly, his skin tan, and Kurt figures this must have been filmed in the summer. 

 _“Kurt’s sleeping,”_ Blaine whispers on the screen, his eyes gleaming and something pulls inside Kurt, the sound of Blaine’s voice from _before_ similar enough to not be unrecognizable, but not the hesitant, sometimes stumbling voice that Kurt’s gotten so used to, and it’s been so long he’d almost forgotten what it sounded like. _“But I have a surprise for him and I think now is the perfect time. I’m sorry, Kurt, if you’re watching this.”_

Kurt laughs, sinks back into the couch and watches as the world spins, Blaine’s face gone from view as he creeps through their small, New York apartment. There’s a shuffling noise as Blaine picks something up, his hold on the camera shaky. The living room comes into focus, light streaming through the window, making everything fade for a brief moment as the camera adjusts. Kurt can see himself on the couch, exhausted shadows under his eyes and his mouth open as he naps on the decorative pillow, and a memory niggles in the back of Kurt’s mind, trying to spring free after so much time. This must have been the summer after they graduated when Kurt was thrown headfirst into the world post-internship, working long hours to prove himself, often coming home late and ready to pass out. Blaine had been his savior then, bringing Kurt treats to work, buying him flowers and giving more massages than Kurt can even remember. He honestly doesn’t know what he would have done without Blaine, feels certain that he wouldn’t be as sane as he is now. 

The camera shakes as Blaine sets it carefully down on the coffee table, kneeling half in the screen as he makes a few adjustments, checking to make sure Kurt is in the screen. There’s a nice shot of Blaine’s ass in a pair of pale blue shorts as he sneaks over to the couch, his old acoustic guitar in hand. His smile is wide and he turns to wink at the camera once more before flopping onto the couch. Kurt watches himself stir, groan and swat at Blaine, and it’s like the memory unfolds as he watches, a fuzzy remembrance of this afternoon, so many years ago. 

 _“Kuuurt,”_ Blaine says in a sing-song voice, scooting to sit on top of Kurt, guitar in lap. _“Kurt my love, my dove, my person to hug.”_

Kurt can hear himself mumble something that sounds vaguely like _go away_ , and shove at Blaine, who just snuggles himself in further, glancing at the camera. 

 _“Kurt, I wrote you a song,”_ Blaine whispers, just loud enough for the camera to pick up, strums a chord on his guitar. 

 _“Write me a song later,”_ on-screen Kurt protests, but his eyes are blinking open, staring at Blaine with obvious judgement. 

 _“But I worked on it all day,”_ Blaine whines, leans over to press a kiss to Kurt’s face and Kurt groans as the weight on top of him shifts. 

 _“Fine,”_ on-screen Kurt huffs, crosses his arms and yawns. _“Get on with it.”_

Blaine looks excited, clears his throat in a way that’s only for show, stretches his fingers before strumming the guitar. 

 _“Kurt with eyes so blue,”_ he sings in an exaggerated voice and Kurt chuckles, his memory of this day becoming more clear. _“My love for you is true, but oh why oh why won’t you make me lasagna anymore_.” Blaine drags out the words, singing it like a sappy love ballad and on-screen Kurt rolls his eyes, swats at Blaine again. Blaine’s song then dissolves into him singing Kurt’s name over and over again, while Blaine sways back and forth, looking overly pleased with himself. 

 _“Stop, stop,”_ on-screen Kurt says, struggling out from under Blaine. _“I can’t take it anymore_.”

Blaine pouts, grabs Kurt to prevent him from leaving. Kurt laughs, falls back against Blaine, raises his eyebrows in fake annoyance. 

 _“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,”_ Blaine starts singing, his voice sweet and on-screen Kurt laughs again, lets his head fall against Blaine, a hand resting on his knee. _“You make me happy, when skies are gray…”_

Off-screen Kurt hums along to the song, feels tears prick at his eyes as he watches himself notice the camera, his eyes growing wide as he slaps at Blaine’s shoulder while Blaine tackles him to the couch, tickling his sides in the way that Kurt says he hates but secretly enjoys. He remembers how things had seemed so hard back then, how he was so busy he barely had time to think; he remembers the fights and arguments he would have with Blaine, how he never really understand how much he took for granted. The easy afternoons, the little things Blaine would do, their dinner dates and lazy morning sex, and conversations over wine at the end of the day. Those are the things Kurt wishes he would have appreciated more, should have made more of an effort to enjoy and if he’d only known…

But how could he have known? Kurt shakes his head, wipes away a stupid, single tear, tries to rid himself of these thoughts. There’s no way he could have known that all this would be taken away, that someday he would remember those days, that he would give anything to go back, that he would _ache_ for how much he misses this and…

The door to the bedroom creaks open, a blurry-eyed Blaine shuffling out, his hair messy with sleep. He smiles at Kurt, rubs his eyes with his left arm, his right tucked close to his side like it always is now, his gait slightly uneven, slides onto the couch beside Kurt. He squints at the TV, forehead crinkling with confusion. They’re bickering on screen, Blaine still singing to Kurt about his lasagna, Kurt vehemently telling Blaine if he wants lasagna he can get his ass to the kitchen and make it himself. 

“I forgot about this,” Blaine says softly, leaning against Kurt. Kurt looks at Blaine, ready to pause the video, worried he might find this upsetting. But Blaine just chuckles, shakes his head at the TV.

“I was an annoying shit,” he says and Kurt can’t help but laugh. “Handsome though.”

Kurt presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s head. “You’re still handsome.” 

Blaine makes a face to disagree, their attention drawn back to the TV as Kurt shrieks and they topple off the couch. Kurt fights to get to the camera, Blaine pulling him back down, shouting _“I love you, Kurt!”_ at the screen before Kurt wrestles him back down, successfully grabbing the camera, the screen abruptly going black. 

Beside him, Blaine shakes his head, his cheeks pink with amusement or embarrassment, possibly a mix and Kurt feels some of the worry of Blaine’s reaction to seeing his past-self leave his gut. 

“I found your memory box,” Kurt says, motions to the box on the coffee table, letters and trinkets surrounding it. 

“Only good memories, I hope,” Blaine says, and his voice is quiet but strong. He reaches out to grab a folded letter, thumb brushing over the writing on top. 

“Very good memories,” Kurt confirms, nudges Blaine’s shoulder with his own, shakes his head to erase his previous thoughts. He wouldn’t give anything to go back because he still has the _now_ , still has Blaine warm beside him, and while things are different now, they _fought_ to get to this point, they worked so hard and while things may not be perfect, Kurt thinks they’re pretty damn good. 

“I love you a lot,” Kurt says as Blaine’s eyes crinkle at the letter he’s reading. He looks up, smiles but there’s a weight to it, a sadness in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s just past-Blaine’s charm tricking…” pause. “Tricking you.” 

Kurt winds his fingers through Blaine’s. “I don’t know this past-Blaine that you speak of. There’s only one Blaine that I know, and he’s a pretty spectacular guy.” 

Blaine knocks his knee against Kurt’s, huffs a laugh. “Now-Blaine disagrees.” 

Kurt turns to look at Blaine, raises his eyebrows. “Now-Blaine obviously doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Blaine’s lip twitches, he looks back at the letter in his hand. “Do you ever miss the way things used to be?” 

Kurt blinks, considers. “No,” he says, shakes his head. “I wish things had been easier for you, for both of us, and I wish that the world had been a little kinder to you. But every day you make me so happy, and I wouldn’t give that up for anything.” 

A blush creeps into Blaine’s cheeks and he hangs his head for a moment, looking back up at Kurt with an amused look in his eyes. 

“Past-Blaine might have been onto something about the lasagna though…” he trails off, blinks innocently up at Kurt. Kurt scoffs. 

“You only love me for my lasagna, I knew it!” he exclaims, and Blaine looks mock-offended.

“You insult me,” Blaine says, places a hand on his chest. “I also love you for your cheesecake. And your skills in bed.” 

Kurt shoots Blaine a calculated glare and Blaine lets out a laugh, pulls Kurt in against him, a kiss landing on his forehead. Kurt nuzzles into Blaine’s chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of Blaine’s shirts. 

“I am pretty damn good in bed.”

 

_January 16th_ _, 2021_

It’s a weekend, and Kurt’s away for a few days for the magazine; his new position means a few trips a year to exotic places like London and Brazil, and while Kurt had stressed about it, Blaine had assured him he would be fine for three days. He has Rachel and Janessa and Abbi, has Cooper and his parents on speed dial, has plenty of people to keep him company if he needs, to call in an emergency if he has one. 

The truth is, Blaine’s enjoying his weekend alone. The wedding is approaching and Kurt’s going a bit crazy with planning, with unneeded stress about flower arrangements and catering companies, and Blaine’s thankful for a few days to just breathe. 

He takes a cab to a coffee shop downtown, one he’s never been in before. It’s snowing outside, and the cafe is a sanctuary of warmth, the rich smells of fresh coffee and blueberry scones, and Blaine tucks himself into a seat by a window, pulls out his laptop. A barista brings him the latte and dark chocolate cupcake he’d ordered, smiles at him when he thanks her. She looks at his computer, at the notebook he’d settled beside it, tells him they offer free refills to writers. 

Blaine tells her he’s not really a writer, not yet, and she says his secret is safe with her, gives him a wink before heading back to brew some more coffee. Blaine looks at the notebook, at his computer, takes a sip of his latte.

The idea had come to him awhile ago, when one of his students wanted to talk to him after class because her brother has a cognitive disability and no one else seems to understand. It made him realize how many people really _don’t_ understand, not out of maliciousness or fear, but because of lack of exposure, because they haven’t had the opportunity to learn to understand. And he thinks about his own experiences, how his family, friends, casual acquaintances reacted, how complete strangers have treated him, how if anything good has come from this, it’s his ability to understand the world in a different way and he wants to share that. 

He opens a word document, stares at the cursor blinking on the screen. He takes another sip of his latte, wonders how hard writing can be. He’s kept a journal for a long time, when he was young he wrote in it every day, the one he kept during his recovery has become less consistent, an entry every month or so, but it’s essentially the same thing, right? Just words on paper, font on a screen, it shouldn’t be that hard. 

But no words come to him, and he finishes his cupcakes, frowns and crosses his arms. How is he supposed to write anything when he can’t even keep up with a conversation half of the time, when he still puts lemons in the silverware drawer, when he gets confused between body wash and shampoo, when birthdays are nearly impossible for him to remember. 

He closes the laptop in frustration, glares down at the silver case of it. Maybe handwriting will be easier, more like the journal he used to keep. He scribbles out a sentence or two before he forgets where he’s going, his train of thought derailing abruptly, sets down his pen with a frustrated sigh. It was silly to think he could write something like this, something that could have meaning for other people, when he can barely keep his thoughts together enough to know what it means to _him._  

He packs up his stuff with a sigh, drains the rest of his latte, bundles up in his coat and scarf and mittens, and heads back home. 

-

He ventures back the next day, trudges through the snow because he doesn’t want to call a cab, cheeks stinging with the cold by the time he arrives. The same barista waves at him and he smiles back, places his order and slides into the same seat as yesterday. 

This time he really thinks, fingers curled around his pen, eyes tracing the empty blue lines of his notebook. He thinks about the past few years, about the years before that, thinks about being a kid when the world seemed so harmless, thinks about the dreams he had in high school, in college.

He thinks about the empty space in his mind surrounding the attack, about the scattered lucidity when he was in the hospital, about the first few months home, the memories like fog on a mirror after a long shower. He thinks about Kurt and his parents, Cooper and Janessa, all the people who’ve made an impact on his life, who were there to help him up every time he needed it, no matter how many times he did need it.

He writes a list. 

\- Kurt

\- Mom and Dad

\- Cooper

\- Lots of noise

\- The taste of Ensure (disgusting)

\- The walking jumpsuit

\- Headaches

\- A new home

\- Belle (and Beast)

\- First steps

\- Running

\- Making coffee

\- Fresh air

Blaine pauses, looks at the scribbled writing, his right hand still clumsy with a pen, knows that it would be impossible to list everything important over the last few years, but he thinks this is a pretty good start. 

-

He starts going to the coffee shop every week, sometimes Kurt comes with him and they share a piece of cheesecake, sip at their respective coffees. Kurt usually reads one of the books he’s meant to finish for years, Blaine staring at his notebook and writing down memories as they come to him, not in any sort of order or with any sort of plan, but it still leaves him feeling satisfied. 

Kurt never asks what Blaine’s writing, seems to know it’s something Blaine has to do for himself, just provides suggestions when Blaine asks for a word, when Blaine doesn’t think a sentence makes sense, when he looses his train of thought. He’s a silent support and Blaine likes the the simplicity of it, their coffee dates that come without question or thought, the barista who brings them free refills, the regulars that Blaine comes to recognize. 

There are a few other writers who frequent the coffee shop, a woman a few years older than him, with her hair up in a wild bun that reminds him of a bird’s nest, her face always scrunched in thought. A boy who looks fresh out of college, his hair usually covered by a knit beanie, a sweater vest buttoned up to the collar, his fingers flying across the keyboard before he sighs and hangs his head. It’s a silent camaraderie, Blaine thinks, the writers, the college students with necks bent over thick textbooks, couples on awkward first dates, business men reading the paper over steaming black coffee, and no one looks at Blaine like he’s any different than the rest of them. 

And slowly, Blaine writes. 

 

_February 5th_ _, 2021_

A stack of wedding invitations sits on the coffee table, waiting to be addressed. A to-do list sits open beside it, too many things left uncrossed, too many things still left to plan and while getting married might be the easiest decision Kurt’s ever made, it might be one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. 

He sinks down onto the couch, hears Belle barking at something outside. Blaine is out with a friend, his social life having expanded immensely since going back to work, and while Kurt’s happy Blaine’s no longer cooped up in the house all day, he does miss seeing his fiancé sometimes. 

Maybe all the time. 

He sighs and opens the favorites list on his phone, clicks the second to top number. 

Waits. 

“-lo?” a gruff voice answers.

“Hey dad, are you busy?” Kurt asks, wonders if he caught him in the shop.

“Kurt? No, not busy. Damn eyes getting too bad to read the caller ID on the phone.” 

Kurt chuckles, has told his dad a million times to get reading glasses, but he never listens.

“And don’t be telling me to get glasses, Carole’s been on my back about the same thing,” Burt continues before Kurt can say anything.

“She’s a wise woman,” Kurt says with a laugh, shakes his head and lets himself sink back into the couch cushion. Burt makes a dismissal noise.

“So what’s up?” 

“Nothing really, I just…” Kurt takes a deep breath, tries to formulate his thoughts into words that actually make sense. “Weddings are a lot of work.” 

Burt lets out a laugh. “That they are. Anything in particular that’s making it difficult?” 

“Everything?” Kurt says, lets out a dry laugh. “Blaine wants a small wedding but our invitation list keeps getting bigger and bigger and I don’t know who to cut out without offending someone and Blaine won’t say anything but I know it makes him nervous. And we still have so much to do and there’s just not enough time, not between work and everything else that happening and I don’t want to make Blaine change the date because this means so much to him but I don’t know how we can do it and…”

“Woah, Kurt, slow down,” Burt interrupts and Kurt takes a moment to breathe. “First off, you’re under no obligation to invite anyone to your wedding. If you don’t want Great Aunt Mildred to come, I think she’ll get over it. If you want a small wedding, then have a small wedding. Everyone else will understand.” 

“Does Aunt Mildred even leave her house anymore?” Kurt asks, his laugh more genuine this time. 

“Not in twenty-seven years,” Burt answers and Kurt can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Well, I’ll cross her off the list,” Kurt says, leans forward to grab the guest list, eyes the long line of names. “I think I just got started thinking about all the people we’ve known, all our friends and family, and I had no idea Blaine had such a large extended family, not that any of them came to visit him when he _needed_ family,” Kurt trails off, firmly scratches of a good chunk of Blaine’s family. 

“It’s hard to decide who makes the cut,” Burt says, and Kurt can hear the squeak of the living room recliner. “Carole and I had the same problem for our wedding. But you just have to remember that it’s _your_ wedding, and only you and Blaine can make these decisions. You’re not having this wedding for the guests.” 

Kurt lets out a groan, his head falling back against the couch. “I hate weddings.”

“Says the kid who spent his entire childhood marrying off his action figures.” 

Kurt chuckles, shakes his head at the memory.

“Okay, I like weddings. I hate the the stress of planning weddings.” 

“Email me a copy of your to-do list. Carole and I will look it over and see what we can help out with. Because I know damn well what this date means to Blaine, and we’re not going to let you postpone it.”

“Thank you, Dad,” Kurt says, wonders why he even thought he should plan this without his dad’s help. 

“Yeah, well, it’s about damn time I can finally call Blaine my son-in-law,” Burt says, a hint of emotion in his voice and Kurt wants to place a bet right now that his dad is the first to cry at the wedding. 

“He already thinks of a you as a father,” Kurt says with a smile. 

“Good,” Burt responds, and Kurt can hear him clear his throat.

“Thanks for the talk, Dad. I think Belle’s going to go crazy if I put off her walk one more minute though,” Kurt says, sees Belle eyeing the leash hanging by the door wishfully. 

“Anytime, Kurt. However Carole and I can help out, you just let me know okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt says, stands up and stretches out his legs.

“And Kurt?” a brief pause. “I’m real proud of you. It’s not easy to take on everything you are, and you’re doing a fine job of it.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says, feels genuinely touched.

“Alright, go walk your dog. And give my love to Blaine,” Burt says with a grumble and Kurt smiles because his dad never really has been comfortable with emotional conversation.

“Will do,” Kurt says. “Love you, Dad.” 

“Yeah, alright, love you too, Kurt. Talk to you later.” 

They hang up and Kurt shakes his head, reaches down to pet Belle before hooking her leash onto her collar. The wedding is still looming, the planning still never-ending, but with a little help, it doesn’t seem so bad. 

He’s ready for it to be here.

 

_April 18th_ _, 2021_

Four days before the wedding.

Four days left to be _X_ ’d off on the calendar.

Four days and Blaine can hardly believe it. 

He tries to be quiet, Kurt’s still sleeping beside him but he can’t help it, an excited laugh escapes his lips. Kurt stirs, blinks open a bleary eye. 

“No squeaking,” he mumbles, voice half muffled by his pillow and in a moment of spontaneity, Blaine squirms himself over to Kurt, gathers him tight in his arms.

“Hrmph,” Kurt protests against him, a look of annoyance on his face. “-m sleeping.”

“Four days,” Blaine says, presses a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “Today and the next day and the next and then we’re getting married.” 

“And you have morning breath,” Kurt grumbles, but a smile pulls at his lips. Blaine presses another kiss to Kurt’s forehead, one to his cheek before Kurt can swat him away with a laughed protest, pulling the covers up over his head. Blaine admits defeat and rolls out of bed, gives himself a moment to find his footing, before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

He lets Belle out, starts the coffee maker, plays with Beast for a moment, until he can hear Kurt’s shout from the bedroom.

“Blaine, your phone!” 

Blaine makes it back to the bedroom, can hear his phone ringing on the bedside table, Kurt running a hand through his hair with a resigned expression on his face. 

“It’s your dad,” Kurt says and Blaine frowns as he picks up the phone, slides his finger across the screen to answer it.

“Hello?” 

“Blaine?” 

“Yeah, hi Dad, is something going on?” Blaine asks, feels a spike of worry in his gut. His mom always calls with any news or questions, his dad never quite comfortable with talking on the phone.

“No, everything’s fine,” his dad says, sounds a little awkward, and Blaine can picture him rubbing a hand on his neck like he always does when he doesn’t know entirely what to say. “I was just calling to see if, uh, if you needed your mother and I to bring anything with us, when we fly out tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t phrase it like a question and Blaine feels the tight remorse he always does when talking to his dad, wishes that things could be a little easier, that he could have the relationship Kurt and his dad have, so open and easy. But he doesn’t, has accepted there will always be a slight strain between them. It’s not that his dad doesn’t love him, for a time he’d thought that was the case but he knows now, his dad loves, he loves deeply, he just doesn’t know how to show it. He’s not one for expressive emotion, an accountant who’s always thought very carefully in numbers and rules, his life set up in structured scaffolding. 

“I can’t think of anything,” Blaine says honestly, drums his fingers on the kitchen counter. 

“Oh, well, I just thought I’d check in,” Robert says, sounds ready to say goodbye and end the call, but something pulls in Blaine, wants to talk to his dad a little longer.

“Are you and mom still packing?” he asks, Beast winding in between his feet, meowing softly up at him.

“Your mother is,” his dad responds, a note of amusement in his voice. “She won’t let me help her anymore because I interrupted her system.” 

“She always said packing was like a game of Tetris,” Blaine remarks, and he can hear his dad laugh, a small chuckle, but it’s something. 

“That it is,” Robert agrees. “Your mother is very excited for the wedding.”

“I am too,” Blaine says with a smile, knows his dad often expresses his own feelings through his mom, a safe medium.

“I, uh… I wanted to tell you to let me know if you need anything,” his dad says after a brief pause, his voice serious. “If there’s anything you didn’t get that you needed, or anything at all. I know we haven’t… we haven’t talked much but I want only the best for you and you just let me know what that is, okay?” 

“I will, Dad. Thank you,” Blaine says, as earnest as he can. 

“Good,” Robert says, sounds slightly relieved. “Good.” 

“Actually, we are short a few bottles of wine for the wedding,” Blaine says, can sense that his dad just needs something to do, he shows his love through the things he can do for his sons, and Blaine knows he’ll feel better if he has an objective, something he can buy and bring for Blaine, something that makes him feel useful while his mom takes over everything else. 

“Consider it done,” his dad says and Blaine knows the wedding will be overflowing with wine, they’re not really that short, but this what his dad wants to do, this is how he reaches out and he’s trying. 

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.” 

“You do that,” his dad says, and Blaine can hear his mom saying something in the background. 

“I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow?” Blaine says, wants to end the conversation before his mom gets the phone and talks at him for hours about last minute wedding plans; there will be plenty of time for that when they get here. 

“I’ll see you then,” his dad says, and Blaine murmurs another goodbye before ending the call, stares at the phone with a fond smile on his face. 

Warm arms wrap around his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder, and Blaine lets his head bump against Kurt’s. 

“What did your dad want?” 

“He just wanted to check in. I think he’s nervous for the wedding.” 

“Are you?” Kurt asks, presses a kiss to the side of Blaine’s neck, his thumb stroking a line down Blaine’s stomach.

“I don’t know… I’ve been thinking of calling the whole thing off,” Blaine says, turns in Kurt’s arms until their face to face, a sly smile on his lips.

“Oh have you now?” Kurt asks, leans in capture Blaine’s lips in a slow kiss, hands sliding down until his fingers creep just under the elastic of Blaine’s pajamas. “What about now?”

“You present a compelling case,” Blaine says, voice soft as they kiss again, deeper, slower. Kurt pulls away and Blaine whines, pouts his lower lip.

“Coffee first, morning sex later,” Kurt says with a wink, stretching up to grab two mugs.

“I can work with that,” Blaine concedes, accepts the cup Kurt passes to him, thinks to himself that if this is what forever with Kurt looks like, he’s ready for it to start. 

Four days.

 

_April 22nd_ _, 2021_

Blaine stops at the edge of the grass, still slightly damp from the early morning rain shower. He stops, thumbs at the solid silver band on his ring finger, can still feel Kurt sliding it over the knuckle, can still hear the echo of _I do,_ can still feel Kurt’s lips on his own, the hard press of forever. 

The evening is warm, and Blaine closes his eyes, feels the slight wind against his face, knows how lucky they are for the nice weather, knows how risky an outdoor reception in April could be. He can hear music already, drifting across the park, the fresh scent of blooming lilacs drifting with the wind. Can hear people laughing, cars pulling up to the curb, the grass squishing under feet. 

“You okay, stud?” a voice asks and Blaine opens his eyes to see Janessa beside him, her purple dress cascading over her swollen belly, and Blaine smiles at the thought of the baby tucked inside, of the amazing life it’s going to have with Janessa as it’s mom. 

“Yeah,” he answers, offers her a genuine smile. “Just thinking.” 

“Care to share?” she asks, rests a hand on the top of her stomach. 

Blaine gives a little shrug, bounces on his feet when he spots Kurt across the park, making his way to the large, white awning they had set up for the reception. They’d left the ceremony separately, Kurt traveling with Rachel and his family, Blaine with Janessa and his mom. 

“It’s been three years,” Blaine says, after a moment, watches as Sarah, Finn’s daughter, darts across the park, skirt pulled up over her knees. 

“Hard to believe?” Janessa asks, nudges her shoulder against Blaine’s. Blaine nods, sucks in a deep breath. He feels calm, feels happy, feels a peace settle through him that he hasn’t felt before. 

“They didn’t win,” he says, looks down at the ring sitting snug on his finger, gives it a little twirl. “I did.” 

Janessa reaches an arm over his shoulder, pulls him into a hug as best as she can, her belly inbetween them, presses a small kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m glad you did,” she says, wraps her hand around his. “Now come on, I’m hungry and we have to get our dance on.” 

He laughs, lets her lead him across the park, feels a little lighter with every step. 

-

The reception is bigger than the wedding, two white fabric awnings set up to protect from the threat of rain, gauzy purple drapes wrapping twinkling white lights, tulips on every table, everything flickering with the light of a million candles, small heaters set up in the corners, on standby. 

Blaine makes his way to the front, a large table set up for the grooms, for their parents, for the maid of honor and best man. Kurt’s standing to the side, talking to his dad, his face glowing with his smile, his body tall and strong. 

“I’m looking for my husband,” Blaine says, sliding up to Kurt’s side, reaches to tangle their fingers together. “Have you seen him? He’s ridiculously handsome, I don’t think you could’ve missed him.” 

Burt chuckles, mumbles something about the open bar and ambles away, Kurt turning to Blaine, raising an eyebrow.

“Hmm,” he says, pretends to think about it. “Maybe he ran off with my husband, you know, curly hair, adorable smile, has a dimple when he laughs.” 

Blaine smacks Kurt’s shoulder lightly, laughs anyways. Kurt pulls Blaine into a kiss, hand squeezing Blaine’s with the promise of _more_ , later. 

“We’re married,” Kurt says, lips moving as if to savor the words. 

“Oh, is that what we just did?” Blaine asks, nudges against Kurt playfully.

“Brat,” Kurt says with a laugh, nudges back against Blaine. 

“You love it,” Blaine says, gives Kurt the obnoxious smile he knows Kurt hates.

“I love _you_ ,” Kurt responds, and they kiss again, but this time a cheer rises up in small crowd. Blaine pulls away, feels his cheeks burn as he blushes, Kurt throwing his head back in a laugh. 

-

They’ve set up a small open buffet for food, and soon everyone is content, bellies full and wine poured liberally into glasses. Blaine feels a little self conscious, sitting in the front of the pavilion, everyone glancing up to watch him eat, and his right hand is acting up today, holding his fork in a stiff, trembling grip, made worse by nerves, but he can’t help it, and food keeps falling back onto his plate. 

He can feel Kurt’s hand on his thigh when he sets his fork down in frustration, a reassuring squeeze and he looks over, sees Kurt giving him an encouraging smile. It’s silly to get upset, he realizes, today is the best day of his life, today he married the love of his life, and he’s not going to let a small thing like this ruin it. 

“Everything okay?” Kurt asks quietly, his thumb stroking a subtle rhythm on his leg.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, looks to his right, the empty chair next to Rachel. “I wish Cooper could have made it.” 

“You know he tried his hardest to get back,” Kurt says, offers Blaine a sympathetic smile. Blaine tries to smile back, knows it’s not Cooper’s fault that his plane was delayed; he’d been in Australia filming a pilot for an actual TV show, and Blaine had told him he shouldn’t miss his first real opportunity just because it was so close to the wedding. And he’s happy for him, he really is, but it stings a little, deep inside, that this is the greatest moment of his life and his brother isn’t here to see it. 

“I know,” he barely responds when the air is filled with the sound of clinking glasses, people chanting at them to kiss. Blaine glares out at the crowd, sees Santana, Mercedes, Tina and Mike, Sam, sees Abbi and Olivia, Penny and Wes and David, sees family and people who love him. Until Kurt pulls his head in, presses a kiss to his lips as everyone whoops and cheers. 

They’re both blushing when they pull away, the crowd a mixture of chatter and laughter. 

“Alright,” Finn says, sitting on Kurt’s left. He stands up, drink in hand, and the crowd quiets, even Finn and Tina’s children sitting still for a moment. “I guess it’s time for a speech?”

“Oh no,” Kurt groans playfully and there’s laughter, Finn batting at Kurt’s shoulder. 

“I’ll admit, my first thought when Kurt and Blaine promoted me from groomsman to best man, on only a days notice, was _how am I ever going to write a speech good enough for their wedding?_ I was pretty set on taking the easy way and just singing a song, but I knew they deserved more. I mean… they’re my brothers.” 

A quiet _aww_ from the crowd, and Blaine tangles his fingers with Kurt’s, knows he’s not going to make it through the night without a few more tears. 

“It’s no secret that I was a mess after we graduated high school. It was a few years later that Kurt sat me down and told me to grow up and get ahold of my life. The next week I met Mel,” Finn smiles and sends a quick wave to his wife, Sarah perched in her lap. Blaine can feel Rachel shift next to him, knows that even if they’re friends now, there will always be the lingering _what if_. “Kurt helped me get my life back together, and Blaine helped me with more lesson plans than I want to admit. He was the first one to make me realize that even though teaching is unexpectedly _hard_ ,” quiet laughter from the crowd, “that I could actually be good at it. Without these two, without my brothers, I’d probably still be living in the freshman dorms at OSU with Puck.” 

A loud whoop from Puck, in the back of the pavilion, Quinn tucked against his side. 

“Anyway, my point is, I have a lot of things to thank these guys for, and I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be together more than them. I know it took a little longer than you had planned, but you guys made it, and I know everyone in this room was rooting for you.” 

A loud cheer, the sound of glasses being tapped and Blaine gives a shaky laugh, has to wipe an eye before leaning over to kiss Kurt, his husband’s eyes just as misty.

“Also… I might have lied about the song,” Finn says, winks his eye and sassy jazz music suddenly fills the pavilion, Rachel popping up beside Blaine, a wide smile on her face. 

“ _The night is young, the skies are clear, so if you want to go walking dear, it’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s de-lovely,”_ Finn sings, makes his way from the front of the pavilion down the sides, Rachel following on the other side. Kurt laughs, grabs Blaine’s hand and squeezes.

“ _It’s De-lovely_ ,” Kurt whispers to Blaine, shaking his head in amusement. “From _Anything Goes_.” 

Blaine recognizes it now, the upbeat tune making it impossible for him not to laugh and tap his foot as Rachel joins in. 

“ _I feel a sudden urge to sing, the kind of ditty that invokes the spring_ ,” her voice is clear and strong, a nearly perfect imitation of Sutton Foster and together they kill the song, changing the lyrics in a few places to make it more obviously about the grooms, and by the end everyone stands and cheers, Finn scooping his daughter up in his arms, Rachel falling against Evan, her newest boyfriend. 

The mood of the reception has heightened with the song, people bursting into their own tunes, laughter filling the air and everything is just so _perfect_ , Blaine has to sniff back a wave of emotion, tries to subtly wipe at his eyes. Kurt bumps his shoulder against Blaine’s, lets his head fall to rest on Blaine’s shoulder when he gives a little laugh. 

“Now my speech!” Rachel’s voice cuts through the crowd, her small body bouncing excitedly, hands clapping. She makes her way back up to the front table, lifts her glass of champagne and smiles her wide, Broadway smile. 

“While it was only natural for Kurt and Blaine to pick me to be their maid of honor, as their deepest and closest friend, I was still honored. I’ve known Kurt since we were five and competing with each other for ballet solos, and while I was admittedly better than him at ballet, I think we’ve been competing against each other ever since.” 

Kurt gives a dramatic groan and lets his head fall into his hands for a moment, Blaine laughing lightly beside him. 

“We’ve competed in dance, for solos, in Glee club, I’m pretty sure we even competed for Blaine at one point,” she says, winks at Blaine and it’s Blaine’s turn to groan, his face heating with embarrassment. “But I knew, when I saw how much Kurt and Blaine loved each other, even from the start, that this wasn’t something I could compete for. Love like theirs is not something you can train for, and it might have taken me awhile to realize, but Blaine and Kurt have something so special it could never be replicated.” 

Her voice wavers a moment and she sniffs, draws up her napkin and dabs at her eyes. 

“After everything they’ve been through, they’ve stayed strong in a way that I could only hope to achieve someday.” A tear blinks from Rachel’s eyelashes as she looks down at Kurt. “You’ve won this one, Kurt Hummel.”

Kurt wipes at his own eyes, nods at her. She places a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, nudges him gently. _Thank you_ , he mouths at her and she nods, takes in a  deep breath before loudly proclaiming,

“Cake time!”

Blaine can hear Finn’s daughter squeal with excitement, lets Kurt pull him up by his hand. They make their way to the table set up to the side, the four tiered and elaborately decorated cake positioned in the middle. A cheer rises up when Kurt picks up the knife and he turns to the small crowd, a grin on his face that makes Blaine want to simultaneously melt in a puddle and kiss him rather inappropriately. 

“Now for what you all really came for,” Kurt says with a wink.

“Damn right I did,” they hear Puck calling, followed by a more quiet “ow” as Quinn slaps at him. Kurt laughs, turns back toward the cake and looks at Blaine, offers him the knife. Blaine places his hand on top of Kurt’s, their fingers both curling around the knife.

“To us,” Kurt whispers, so only Blaine can hear, and they cut the cake. 

-

After everyone’s bellies are filled and the grooms have had to kiss more times than they can count, Finn and Puck work on clearing an opening under the pavilion near the front table, the perfect amount of space for dancing. The night is growing chilly, and Kurt shivers a little, before nudging his father to turn on the heaters they’d rented just for this reason. 

They’d asked Artie to be their DJ, and he’d gladly agreed, has himself set up behind a computer, a few large speakers on either side. Blaine is fidgeting beside Kurt, pulling at the hem of his tuxedo and Kurt wants to tell him to stop, because tuxedos aren’t cheap, but before he can, Blaine stands up, rolls back on his heels for a moment before clearing his throat. 

“I know everyone is anxious to dance,” Blaine says, their guests quieting down for a moment, their attention focusing on Blaine. “But before we do, I’d just like to take your attention for just, um, just a moment.”

He turns to face Kurt, hands clenched nervously, and Kurt looks up at Blaine, his hair curling perfectly around his face, his skin tinged pink with a blush, his right arm held close to his side, and Kurt thinks he looks absolutely beautiful tonight. 

“As you all know, the last few years have been, um… difficult for us and I can’t… I can’t begin to express how lucky I am to have had Kurt by my side through everything. I don’t…” he sucks in a deep breath and Kurt reaches over to grab his hand, squeezes tightly. “I don’t know where I’d be right now, without him, but I don’t think it would be anywhere as good as… as this.”

Kurt can hear a few sniffles in the crowd, someone blowing their nose, but he doesn’t care, his attention solely on Blaine right now. 

“Thank you, Kurt, for always standing beside me, even when I couldn’t. You made even my worst moments okay, and I don’t think I could have made it without you.” 

Kurt stands, draws Blaine into a tight hug, Blaine’s head falling against his shoulder.

“I love you so much,” Blaine whispers into his neck, and Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s dance,” he whispers back, and Blaine gives a small laugh, nods into his neck and pulls back, lets Kurt lead him into the opening. 

The first soft notes of _Lovesong_ by Adele fill the air, Kurt’s hand on Blaine’s waist, Blaine’s hand on his shoulder, bodies close together as they dance, the movements they’ve been practicing in their living room for weeks. But it’s different here, it means more, they way Blaine looks at Kurt through misty eyes, a smile pulling at his lips and his face full of emotion. They flow better here, their movements aren’t perfect but they’re perfect enough for Kurt, and it hits him, with a deep wrenching of his heart, that he gets to call the beautiful man across from him his husband, that they made it and he wants to shout it to the sky. That no matter what, no matter how many people try, _no one_ can tear them down or break them apart. 

“ _However far away, I will always love you, however long I stay, I will always love you, whatever words I say, I will always love you,_ ” Kurt sings along soft enough that only Blaine can hear him, his eyes searching Blaine’s so he knows he really means it. No matter what else life has in store for them, they will always love each other. And that’s enough for Kurt. 

Blaine opens his mouth to say something back, is interrupted by a commotion in the crowd around them. Kurt turns his head, annoyed, when he hears shouting, the crowd parting to reveal a very out of breath Cooper Anderson coming to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. 

“I’m here!” Cooper says, rather loudly, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “My plane just got in… what did I miss?” 

Kurt raises his eyebrows and shakes his head; leave it too Cooper to make a dramatic entrance at his own brother’s wedding. But Blaine laughs and Kurt can see tears in his eyes, lets go of Blaine’s hands so Blaine can slap his brother’s shoulder before being wrapped in a hug. 

“That’s my husband you’re suffocating,” Kurt says after a moment, and Cooper loosens his grip, lets Blaine pull away slightly, tears on his cheeks and a happy smile on his lips. 

“You ass,” Blaine says through a shaky laugh, but Kurt can tell there’s no real anger behind it. “You missed my wedding.”

“Believe me,” Lauren, Cooper’s girlfriend, says, stepping up behind him. “There are several emotionally scarred Australian airline employees that are very aware of this fact.” 

“Besides,” Cooper says with careful nonchalance, though Kurt can see clear regret in his eyes. “The dance is the best part anyways. I just skipped the boring stuff.” 

Kurt can’t help but chuckle, seeing Cooper panting in a wrinkled button up and khaki pants, his hair a mess, and it’s obvious they came straight from the airport, and really, that’s what matters. He’s here for Blaine, for both of them, and he cares so much, no matter how he tries to cover things with humor and over-the-top performances. He’s Blaine’s brother, and he made it on his wedding day. And one look at Blaine is all you need to know how much that means to him. 

“Now…” Cooper starts, clearing his throat and turns to face the crowd around the clearing, and Kurt sighs, wonders if he’s actually going to make it through the night without duct taping Cooper’s mouth.

“I know you’re all expecting a very elaborate and eloquent speech from me, full of inspirational ditties that will make you reevaluate your life, and tear-jerking proclamations of love that you’ll be writing down to tell your children someday. I had such a speech planned, but when I got to the tenth page, waiting through the eight painstaking hours of my delayed flight, I realized that there’s nothing I could say about love, about commitment, about obstacles to be overcome, that both of you don’t already know.” Cooper looks over at Blaine, then to Kurt, and for once his expression is serious. 

“You two have gone through more than most people do in their whole lives, and you’re still here, getting married and celebrating and achieving every single thing you’ve ever dreamed about. And Kurt, I knew from the moment I heard my flawlessly preformed _Free Credit Rating_ song as your ringtone, and more importantly, from the first time I saw you look at my brother with those ridiculous heart eyes that you get, you know what I’m talking about, right?” Cooper says to the crowd and everyone murmurs and laughs in agreement, Kurt’s cheeks heating up in a blush. 

“I knew that you were the perfect man for my brother. And you’ve proven me right so many times, I’m proud to have you as a part of my family.” Kurt sniffs, ducks his head in embarrassment, Blaine reaching over to squeeze his hand. 

“I’m so happy for you Blaine. You have the Cooper Anderson seal of approval.” 

“Thanks, Coop,” Blaine says, wipes a stray tear off his cheek. Cooper leans in to wrap Blaine in another hug, and Kurt can hear “I’m so proud of you,” murmured into Blaine’s ear. Blaine gives a nod, takes a deep breath to compose himself. 

“Weren’t we dancing?” Lauren asks, and their guests give excited shouts and whoops. The music starts back up, Lauren pulling Cooper away so Kurt as a chance to take Blaine’s hands back in his own.

“Now, where did we leave off?” he teases lightly, can’t help but smile at the unashamedly happy look on Blaine’s face. 

He doesn’t think tonight could get much better. 

-

It does.

-

It’s nearing midnight, Abbi and Janessa are still breaking out the dance floor, as much as Janessa’s belly will allow her. Finn and Tina’s children are curled up together under a table, fast asleep, Finn slow dancing with Mel beside them. Rachel’s talking Evan’s ear off, both Blaine’s and Kurt’s parents at a table in conversation together. Kurt looks around, trying to spot Blaine; he’d been pulled away for another dance with Santana, then Quinn, then Lauren, his feet aching by the time he’d managed to escape the girls. 

He spots Blaine at a table near the back, leaning against Cooper, looking tired but happy. Blaine had been a hit all night, dancing with almost everyone, barely having time to dance with Kurt. Kurt doesn’t mind, they’re married and they can dance with each other every day if they want. The thought makes Kurt smile; there are so many things they can do now, every day for the rest of their lives, and Kurt’s determined to do them. Starting with dancing.

“What are you smiling about?” Burt asks, coming up behind Kurt. Carole is beside him, their hands clasped and faces slightly flushed from too much wine. 

“Oh you know, just thinking about my husband over there,” Kurt says, motioning towards the table. Across the pavilion, Blaine looks up, offers Kurt a small wave. Kurt waves back, blows Blaine a kiss; Blaine pretends to catch it, tucks it in his pocket and Kurt laughs. 

“I’m real proud of you, Kurt,” Burt says and Kurt turns to look at him. “You guys are gonna do great.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says, wraps his dad in a hug, Carole demanding one next. 

“It’s so good to see a happy ending for all my boys,” Carole says into the hug and Kurt gives her an extra squeeze. 

“You guys will still visit when we get back from the honeymoon, right?” Kurt says, arches and eyebrow and leans in close to Carole.

“We’ll needs some help picking out gender neutral nursery-like colors, if you know what I mean,” he whispers so only Carole can hear, his dad frowning.

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, dear,” Carole says, patting Burt’s arm, a wide smile on her face. 

“I think someone needs you,” Burt says, and Kurt turns his attention back across the pavilion, sees Blaine making a face and mouthing _help me_ to Kurt as Cooper rambles on, making rather emphatic arm motions.

“Maybe I should go rescue my husband,” Kurt says with a chuckle, doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of calling Blaine that.

Burt sends him off with a pat and a _good luck_ , Kurt making his away across the opening to Blaine, interrupts Cooper during a long speech about a… chameleon? 

“Excuse me,” Kurt says, and Blaine’s face lights up, his hand reaching back to find Kurt’s. “Might I borrow my husband for one last dance?” 

Blaine jumps up before Cooper can say anything, lets Kurt lead him back to the clearing, Janessa gives them a thumbs up as she dances with Abbi and Lauren, the last few on the dance floor. 

The first notes of _Three Little Birds_ by Bob Marley starts up and Blaine lets out a laugh as Kurt pulls him in close. 

“What?” Kurt asks as Blaine shakes his head, amused.

“I sang this to you, when you had the flu a few years back,” Blaine says, smiling at the memory. “You didn’t find it very amusing.”

Kurt doesn’t remember, but he smiles anyways.

“I’m sure you were very good,” Kurt says, leading them in the dance. Blaine’s movements are slower and Kurt knows he’s tired, knows he’ll never admit it. 

“I was, thank you,” Blaine says, tries to stifle a yawn, looks at Kurt guiltily.

“We should get back home,” Kurt says gently. “We can clean up in the morning.”

“One last song?” Blaine asks as the song morphs into _Sea of Love_ by Cat Power. 

“Okay,” Kurt agrees, and Blaine rests his chin on Kurt’s shoulder as they dance, their bodies nearly touching. 

“I’ll probably sleep on the plane tomorrow,” Blaine murmurs sleepily. 

“That’s okay,” Kurt says, rubs a hand over Blaine’s back. “You can sleep on the beach the whole time if you want.” 

“But… what about all the loud hotel sex we were planning on having?” Blaine asks, perking up just a bit. 

“It’s penciled in the agenda,” Kurt promises.

“We have an obligation to do it, really,” Blaine says, sagging slightly against Kurt.

“Alright, lets get home,” Kurt says with a laugh. “Before you fall asleep on the dance floor.” 

“-m not…” Blaine starts, is cut off by a wide yawn. “Okay, maybe.”

Kurt steps back a bit, takes in his husband one last time.

“Thanks for marrying me,” Kurt says, his fingers tangling with Blaine’s. 

“Thanks for putting up with me,” Blaine responds, squeezes Kurt’s hand.

“Anytime,” Kurt says, really means it. 

And they leave, hand in hand, from the dance floor. 

Together.


End file.
